


For the Jester's Heart

by Nalledia



Series: A Bard's Tale Series [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adventure, Astrid sucks and I will prove it, Betrayal, Complete~!, F/M, Gen, I hate tagging, M/M, Romance, mentions of the 3rd Era Dark Brotherhood, new members, rebuilding the Brotherhood at the end, sorry not sorry for the writing, this is gosh-dang old
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-01
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2019-03-09 16:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 43
Words: 121,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13485678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nalledia/pseuds/Nalledia
Summary: Alysa Ice-Wrath is a stone-cold assassin of the Dark Brotherhood, but the meeting of a certain jester sets things in motion she could never have dreamed of before. Writing challenge from Bajazzo on FF.net





	1. In Need of Assistance

**Author's Note:**

> Old as balls. Forgive the teenage-y-ness of this; but I'm hella proud of how this fic came out back when I wrote it. I just need to get my ass in gear and re-write or at least edit it. You will find Tawarthion in here, too.
> 
> Unedited, unbeta'ed, for the most part. One day I'll fix that. But today, is not that day.
> 
> Disclaimer:  
> I do not own Skyrim or any of the NPCs, Quests or game dialog. The rest of the characters are mine

My name is Alysa Ice-Wrath, born and bred right here in Helgen, Falkreath Hold, a Nord of Skyrim. I am a true child of the north, and its snow, born on 17th of Evening Star, 4E173. I am twenty-seven, and… young, I suppose, considering what I do, what I enjoy doing so much. I am an assassin of the Dark Brotherhood, and nothing gives me more pleasure than taking the lives of others, watching them fade into the Void to join my Dread Father Sithis, and the fear on their faces as they realized their end and how I felt myself smile and grow euphoric as their warm, crimson blood flowed over my hands, soaked my clothes and pooled at my feet. They could be grateful I wasn't a vampire, or a werewolf. Oh, how I would kill then…. I would be  _unstoppable_.

The Brotherhood found me when I was nineteen, after my 'incident' in Riften with the Aretino boy, who tried to summon them to kill an old woman who headed an orphanage. Too bad for them, I got there first. I killed her amidst the sleeping children, rejoicing in her screams as I sliced her apart, their shrieks of fear as the children woke up. I was still savoring the feel of her blood when the guards came, weapons aloft and speaking nonsense. They dragged me away, kicking and screaming, to the jail. To wait for the headsman's axe. I was in jail when  _she_  found me, the one who was closest to the forgotten Listener, and  _her_  name is Astrid.

I do not know how she got me out, or how she had kept me under for so long, but I didn't wake up until we were in an abandoned shack, somewhere in the middle of nowhere. There she was, perched atop a bookshelf, looking so arrogant and nonchalant as she looked me over, red and black armor clinging to her skin, showing her form as a cowl and hood covered her head and mouth, leaving only her eyes visible. She had told me to choose one of the three guilty people before me, bound and a sack over each of their heads, unable to flee. She tossed me a daedric dagger, and watched.

I remember my moment of ecstasy, then all three lay dead before me, blood all around. I believe I saw a hint of fear in her grey eyes, behind the way they admired the work I had done. She offered me a place among the Family, and I followed willingly, passing into the Falkreath Sanctuary. I was surprised I hadn't found it before, in fact. I was given the armor of my Family, the Shrouded Armor, and I wore it with pride. I took as many contracts as I could, traveling throughout the Skyrim countryside, and whispers of a merciless Dark Brotherhood assassin spread like wildfire: everywhere I went, people looked over their shoulders, watching for one who would kill them.

I took a liking to the dagger first, and the bow only for specific contracts. I stayed away from magic like any sensible Nord; but bought and used poisons I had never known existed. I had Babette teach me how to make my own if I needed to, and occasionally asked Festus for advice. I especially liked using Frost poisons, and often milked the Frostbite spider, Liz, Babette kept for its poison. I hadn't even thought of a life outside of murder and assassinations, and then only briefly, until I was on a return trip to the Sanctuary, on the Loreius Farm, a little bit north of Whiterun.

A wagon carrying a rectangular wooden box stood beside the road, a jester pacing, singing and dancing beside it, when he wasn't fretting over something. He seemed to speak to himself, often. I smirked, thinking to investigate what exactly was the matter, and what was in the box. As I got closer, the jester suddenly shouted, kicking at a broken wheel.

"Agh! Bother and befuddle! Stuck here!  _STUCK_!" he finished, shrieking. I raised a brow, listening. "My mother, my poor mother! Unmoving! At rest, but too still!" he wailed. Then he spotted me.

"Something wrong?" I asked, stepping closer.

The jester nodded, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Poor Cicero is stuck! Can't you see?" he waved at the wagon, running towards it, stroking the box. "I was transporting my dear, sweet mother. Well, not  _her_. Her corpse! She's quite dead," he grinned at me. "I'm taking mother to a new home. A new crypt. But... aggh! Wagon wheel! Damnedest wagon wheel! It broke! Don't you see?" he flung himself at the wheel, showing me.

I sighed, rolling my eyes. "Is there anything I can do to help?" I drawled listlessly.

The jester jumped up, clapping his hands and dancing. "Oh. Oh yes! Yes, the kindly stranger can certainly help! Go to the farm – the  _Loreius_  Farm. Just over there, off the road," he swept his arms towards the buildings, his eyes wide and a broad smile on his face. It was a little more than slightly disturbing, but strangely infectious. "Talk to  _Loreius_.  _He_  has tools!  _He_  can help me! But he  _won't_! He  _refuses_! Convince Loreius to fix my wheel! Do that, and poor Cicero will reward you. With coin! Gleamy, shiny coin!" he sang, and as I walked away I heard him sing. "The farmer is at his farm! Where else would he be? Loreius is his name. Talk to him. Convince him to help poor  _CICERO_!" I vaguely heard maniacal, shrieking laughter as I entered the farmhouse and saw the farmer there. He looked up, glaring at me.

I pulled my cowl away from my hooded face. "You need to help that fool on the road."

Loreius grunted. "That Cicero feller? Hmph. Tell me something I don't know. Crazy fool's already asked me about five times. Seems he's not satisfied with my answer. Why can't he just leave us alone?" Just then, his wife walked in. "Help him, and he will. He would even pay you," I said, sounding a little more like I was threatening him. I suppose I was, and I enjoyed it.

"' _Pay me'_?" he spat. "You think this is about money? Have you seen the man? He's completely out of his head. A jester? Here, in Skyrim? Ain't been a merryman in these parts for a hundred years. And he's transporting some giant box. Says it's a coffin, and he's going to bury his mother. Mother my eye. He could have anything in there. War contraband. Weapons. Skooma. Ain't no way I'm getting involved in any of that."

I sighed through my nose. " _Help him_ ," I hissed through clenched teeth.

The farmer seemed taken aback, and his wife gasped in fear. "What? And just who in Mara's name are you, anyway? Hmm? Come here, telling me my business. And for what? To help a... a... a fool!"

"Just do it."

"Look, I... I... You're right. You're right. Feller might be nutters, might not. But fact is, he needs help. I turn him away, what kind of man am I, hmm? Look, um... Thanks. And I'm sorry for my unneighborly reaction. If you talk to Cicero, you be sure and tell him I'll be down to help soon."

I nodded, and left. When I returned to Cicero, he muttered to himself even more. "Poor mother…. Her new home seems so very far…."

"Loreius will be up to help you soon," I said, standing close enough to the wagon and…  _coffin_ , but far enough to not be a part of it.

The jester – Cicero – jumped up and down, clapping and dancing. "Oh stranger! You have made Cicero so happy! So jubilant and ecstatic! But more! Even more! My mother thanks you!" he grabbed my shoulders, embracing me, and pushed a large coin purse into my hands. "Here, here. For your troubles! Shiny, clinky gold! A few coins for a kind deed! And thank you! Thank you again!" he finished with a flourish. I walked on my way. "I will wait for Loreius! Oh yes, mother and I will wait right here, right here until he fixes our wheel!" he called after me, and I was a little sad to leave the jester behind. He was… attractive in more than just his act.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Cicero watched her walk away, her hips swinging and swaying… oh-so-much like a dancer. A deadly dancer. She was one of us, oh yes she was! She was! A pretty Nord, by her bearing… so pretty. But Cicero can't forsake Mother! No! He is Keeper! His duty is to Mother first!

"How is Mother? Oh, I am so sorry we are late! Oh Mother!" Poor Cicero falls to his knees, "Oh Mother, we shall hurry to our new home! We shall!" He stands again, pacing, and talking to keep Mother company. His love goes to Mother, not this Nord woman, this beautiful, deadly Nord woman, his sister through the Family! "Forgive me, Mother," Cicero whimpers, and watches Loreius come to help. Oh, what a horrid, horrid mean man!  _He_  shall know the meaning of ugly.  _Bless my blade, Oh sweet Night Mother…._

 

* * * * * * *

 

I arrived back at the Sanctuary almost a month later, choosing to stick to the roads. I had been saving for a horse, but apparently they were more expensive than I had previously believed. There was commotion in the common room, and I followed the voices. One I recognized immediately.

"But the Night Mother is mother to all! It is her voice we follow! Her will! Would you dare risk disobedience? And surely...  _punishment_?"

Was the jester a Family member?

"Keep talking, little man, and we'll see who gets 'punished.'" Arnbjorn's deep voice growled.

"Oh, be quiet you great lumbering lapdog," Festus' sharp voice commanded. "The man has had a long journey. You can at least be civil. Mister Cicero, I for one am delighted you and the Night Mother have arrived. Your presence here signals a welcome return to tradition."

Cicero launched himself at Festus, wrapping him in a tight embrace as I took in the sights before me. "Oh, what a kind and wise wizard you are! Sure to earn our Lady's favor!"

"You and the Night Mother are of course welcome here, Cicero. And you will be afforded the respect deserving of your position as Keeper. Understood...  _husband_?" Astrid finished, glaring at Arnbjorn, who grunted and walked away.

Cicero released Festus, who looked more than a little miffed. I smirked. It would do the wizard good. "Oh, yes yes yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Cicero moved to embrace Astrid, but she stepped back, a hand on her dagger. She looked so regal in threat: I might not have liked her all that much, but I respected my leader for who she was, what she had done for all of us. I almost smirked when Cicero paused at her next words.

"But make no mistake. I am the leader of this Sanctuary. My word is law. Are we clear on that point?"

"Oh yes, mistress. Perfectly! You're the boss," the jester bowed deeply, then turned back to the coffin.  _The Night Mother…_  I thought, deciding to investigate further. Sithis I knew well, but the Night Mother was an entirely different story. She was a part of the Brotherhood's history that had been buried when the last Listener had died. My Family dispersed, and I found myself drawn to Cicero and the Night Mother. Perhaps  _I_  would hear her voice one day.

Astrid stopped me before I could go further. As much respect as I had for her in keeping the Brotherhood alive, she had destroyed any traditions we had, and she had a knack for picking the worst time to talk to me. "Ah, there you are. Good, I was done speaking with that muttering fool anyway. We've got some business to discuss," she grinned lazily.

"So you have a contract."

"I do indeed, Alysa. You must go to the city of Markarth, and speak with the apothecary's assistant. You'll probably find her in The Hag's Cure, when the shop is open. The girl's been running her mouth, wants an ex-lover killed. She's apparently performed the Black Sacrament. Her name is Muiri. I need you to talk to her, set up the contract, and carry it out."

I nodded. "Anything else I should do?"

"Just do whatever the contract wishes. Be professional, represent us well, and get the job done. Since it's your first major contract in a city, I'll let you keep whatever Muiri pays. She'll be generous, I'm sure. They always are…" Astrid trailed off, looking at her husband before turning back to me. "Leave when you're ready."

I nodded, watching her walk away before I sauntered over to Cicero. Now that I was paying more attention, I recognized him as an Imperial. He was muttering to himself, or to the Night Mother, as I got closer.

"Another member of the Family! Hello, hello. So very good to meet you!" he exclaimed, only turning his head slightly to acknowledge me. Then he froze, and turned slowly on his heels to look directly at me. "Wait, oh wait! I know you! Yes, yes; from the road! Cicero never forgets a face!"

I gave a half-smile, just stopping myself from grinning outright. I had hoped he would remember me, and a feeling I couldn't place bloomed in my chest. "So,  _you_  were the man transporting his mother…."

Cicero clapped, grinning and laughing. "I am! I was! But not just  _my_  mother.  _Our_  mother, hmm? The Night Mother! Oh yes! And you helped me! You helped poor Cicero! You talked to Loreius, got him to fix the wheel! Oh, you may have pleased Cicero, but you have surely pleased the Night Mother. And our Mother, she will never forget!" I smirked, and looked to the side. "Oooh…. So silent. So menacing. A true assassin of the old way. Cicero likes you. Oh yes, Cicero likes you, indeed…" the jester purred, and looking into his eyes again, I saw a glimmer of sanity behind the madness. In that sanity, I saw an assassin blessed by the Night Mother and Sithis himself. It was unnerving. But it was gone as quickly as it came.

"So, Cicero, what exactly do you do for our Family?"

The jester's eyes widened as he pointed at himself. "Me? Oh, Cicero is just the Keeper! I… keep! Cicero looks after our matron, you see. The Night Mother. I keep her clean, and protected, and happy…. But he is not the Listener. Oh no. There is  _no Listener_. Not yet!" he grabbed my shoulders briefly. "But some day, some day,  _SOME DAY_  I pray, that one will come to hear her say…  _The Words_ …."

"Ah…" I said, raising both eyebrows. Cicero nodded, his eyes glinting, looking over me for some reason. I found myself wondering why.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Oh, oh, oh! So beautiful! So menacing! Surely so like the Listeners of Old! Oh how Cicero wishes  _she_  would be the Listener! Yes! Oh, how Cicero  _loves_  hearing her speak; soft like the winter breeze, cold like Skyrim's winter storms. Never have I so enjoyed another's voice, and perhaps company. Or maybe he once did…. Cicero can't remember. Or he doesn't  _want_  to remember. NO! Cicero lives for the Night Mother, and  _she_  is the one whose company he enjoys, whose voice he longs to hear…. But wait! She speaks again! Cicero must know her name….

"Why did you move our Mother from her crypt in Bravil?"

She is versed in our history, Mother! Oh, she knows where you were! "The Night Mother's crypt in Bravil was…  _desecrated_. The Imperial Province is  _ravaged_  by strife. Nowhere is safe, at present. So Cicero brought our Lady to her new home. Here! This is the only Sanctuary left in all of Skyrim, you see. Such was my… _honor_. As Keeper."

She frowned, oh she glared at Cicero! "What exactly does a 'Keeper' do?"

Cicero shuffles his feet, and glances down. "Oh, Cicero takes care of our Lady's body.  _Oils_  it,  _preserves_  it, keeps it  _safe_. Makes sure nobody disrespects our Matron's coffin," he glares at the horrid wolf-man.

"Hm. I must go," the she-assassin of old said, straightening and turning.

"Wait! Oh, wait!" Cicero takes her arm, but quickly lets go. "What name do you go by, Sister? You know Cicero's name, but Cicero doesn't know yours!"

She glared at where Cicero had touched her, and then at me. "Ice-Wrath. Alysa Ice-Wrath."

Dear Cicero watched her turn her back and walk away.  _Oh, sweet Mother, help your poor Cicero…._

 

* * * * * * *

 

I walked away feeling shaken to the bone. I swallowed hard and dry, never glancing back and using all of my training as an assassin to keep from touching my arm where Cicero had reached for me. I passed Veezara, half-grinning, half-smirking at the Argonian as he sat cross-legged on the ground. He grinned back, with the sharp, toothy grin only an Argonian can give.

I jogged up the stairs, and down the passage to where the beds were, stepping behind a screen and taking my armor off, replacing it with a warm, dark tunic and leggings. I strapped my daggers on again once I finished, putting my armor in a chest at the foot of my bed. I strolled into the dining hall to eat, and enjoyed a volley of sarcastic remarks and puns from the Redguard Nazir. Babette appeared a little while later, and stalked around the room, wrinkling her nose at the smell of food and drink, then wandered off again.

She was a delightful – albeit ancient – addition to the Brotherhood, with her childish charm and deadly speed, never minding her sadistic nature. Few others seemed able to be near her, and I think she rather liked it, often. Festus came a time after that, and his grumblings about spells and potions and poisons were barely audible. Nazir left, and I stayed, drinking mead until I wasn't quite sure which way was straight, and finally stumbled to my bed, removing my daggers and putting them under my pillow, lying on my stomach as I hugged it to my chest, a hand wrapped around each hilt.

 


	2. With Friends Like These…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, old as balls. Don't hate on poor teenage meXD Gratuitous YA and irrelevant character self-description here. I have gotten so much better since this

I woke up with a gods-cursed headache. Damn me and my love of mead, and damn the Sanctuary for keeping barrels of the drink. I groaned, rolling onto my side, and eventually upright. I cradled my head between my hands, pressing the heel of my palms into my closed eyes and massaging my temples. Someone was watching me, but I could care less at the moment.

"Too much mead, Alysa?" a cheery voice sang. I felt my shoulders sag: I couldn't deal with overly cheeriness this early in the morning.  _Oh, Sithis help me,_  I thought.  _Please let me have imagined it's that clown…._  "Oh, yes yes! Too much mead for Alys-ah- _oof!_ "

I tackled the jester, pleased with the sound of air whooshing out of his lungs, my throbbing head forgotten momentarily. We wrestled for the upper hand, and I punched and kicked as hard as I could. I hissed, sucking in a breath as I connected with stone. I gasped as I was suddenly heaved up, and tossed. Cicero was stronger than he looked. I flailed briefly, quickly tucking myself into a ball and rolling along a tight passage.

Footsteps ran closer.

 _Wait, wait!_  I commanded myself, staying in a ball until the jester jumped. I rolled upright, using my energy to propel my left fist into the area just below his breastbone. Cicero bounced backwards, my fist exploding with pain, throbbing in tune with my head. I swore, not waiting to see if Cicero would stand. I glanced behind me once, bolting down the stairs and crashed straight into Arnbjorn. We tumbled down the stairs, and since I was much lighter, I was flung quite a way further. I felt winded, my hangover forgotten in my need to breathe. I sat up, trying to gulp in air.

Arnbjorn growled, "Watch it, Tidbit!"

Cicero appeared at the top of the stairs, his eyes wild and a long, thin, ebony dagger in hand.

I bared my teeth, ignoring Arnbjorn for the moment and propelling myself forwards, crying out my rage as I ran.

Cicero bounced down the stairs.

Something slammed into me.

A wolf slammed into Cicero, dagger clattering away and into the pool.

I snarled, struggling against something scaly, eyes only for my prey. The scaly thing let me go, and before I could stand my muscles froze, and I couldn't move. "Festus!" I screamed through clenched teeth. "You let me go! Curse your magic!"

"Enough!"

Astrid's voice cut through the commotion. Cicero was snarling at the wolf, whom I suddenly realized was Arnbjorn. He snapped his jaws at the jester, and he went limp, wide-eyed and whimpering, begging the Night Mother for something. I felt the Paralysis spell easing off, my muscles slowly becoming my own again.

"What happened here?" Astrid demanded, striding towards us. I heard Babette snigger from somewhere. I still couldn't move myself just yet. "Festus, let her stand. And husband, get off the Keeper. Keep them both calm, Festus."

I sighed in relief when the spell disappeared from my limbs, and I stood immediately, dusting myself off as I glared at Cicero, and eventually Astrid.

"Alysa," she purred, venom in her voice. "What is the meaning of this?" she waved a lazy hand at the scene.

I sighed through my nose, standing taller and lifting my chin. My pride would  _not_ break under me today. "We fought, and I was winning until  _he_ –" I jerked my head in Cicero's direction, "–pulled a knife. And Veezara jumped me. And Arnbjorn changed."  _And Festus put a spell on me,_  I thought sourly, feeling my nose wrinkle in disgust. Cicero started talking quickly, and I snorted loudly, turning to leave. Astrid took my arm as I passed her, and Arnbjorn growled. I flexed my jaw. I  _hated_  it when people touched me. I refused to turn around, letting my anger cool and freeze over into ice. The kind of ice that could easily let me kill whole villages of people at a time.

 

* * * * * * *

 

"Poor Cicero did nothing! He greeted his dear Sister and she tackled him! Oh yes she did! She tackled poor Cicero to the ground and fought him! He  _had_  to defend himself!" poor Cicero explained. He didn't like seeing the wolf-man as a wolf; and he made Alysa angry. Cicero looked at her, oh she  _was_  angry! Now he knows  _why_  she is called Ice-Wrath: oh she is cold, cold, cold! Especially when she is angry, raging, furious! So deadly; maybe she will freeze this…  _Astrid's_  arm, and then  _that_  woman will die!

She thinks Cicero doesn't hear, but he hears EVERYTHING! She speaks of heresies, denying the Night Mother and the traditions of the Dark Brotherhood! The woman keeps talking, and Cicero mumbles an apology, pretending to be sorry. He listens carefully to Alysa when – mm –  _Astrid_  tells her to speak

 "I am not sorry. I will apologize only because he is my Brother. Other than that," and she turns, she turns! But she glares at poor, sweet Cicero. "Stay  _away_  from me in the mornings, Keeper. And Astrid:  _let. Go. Of. Me._ "

Cicero's favorite assassin jerked her arm away, glaring at  _Astrid_  and stalked away. Oh, perhaps Cicero  _should_  get to know her better! Perhaps then the Night Mother will accept her as Listener, since she doesn't want dear Cicero! He wants to apologize to Alysa, but he doesn't think she will be kind to Cicero, oh no not yet! Perhaps later… besides, Mother needs oiling! Cicero must get all of the hard-to-reach places! Yes, sweet Cicero will oil Mother then he will apologize.

" _Ho ho ho, and hee hee hee, break that lute across my knee! And if the bard should choose to fight, why then I'll set his clothes alight!_ " Cicero sings, dancing and showing his Family what he means as he dances all the way to Mother.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I ground my teeth: I shouldn't have started a fight with the jester. It was stupid, thinking back now. I needed to be gone, now: to travel and take my first  _real_  contract, to track, stalk and kill my prey; unlike the minor ones Nazir had given me when they turned up. I sneered at the thought of another snivelling idiot at my feet, whimpering for mercy and life. My lips curled into a smile.

Oh yes,  _that_  was what I needed. I took my armor from my chest, then quickly washed in a pool deeper into the Sanctuary, close to where the beds were. I put on my armor, carrying my clothes under arm and strapping on my twin daedric daggers, putting my clothes back into the chest and taking out my daedric bow and quiver with twenty arrows. Right before I pulled my hood over my head as I turned, I caught my reflection in a small mirror on one of the walls.

Only my face was shown, but it made me think of my appearance overall. I was delicately built for a Nord woman: slender, and much shorter than the average Nord – I was almost a Breton-like height, probably from the series of mishaps that made up my childhood – my breasts were small, which I would eternally be grateful for, considering my…  _occupation_ , with a narrow waist and hips not much more prominent, though if I bothered to dress up I could look a little more rounded than I do in armor. I had often used my fragile-looking body to get my targets to take me straight into their homes. My legs were long, strong and toned from running, climbing, fighting and other acrobatics I needed to know. My fingers were long and thin, perfect for pickpocketing and wielding lockpicks, the latter of which was the only I was extremely good at. After all, targets don't always invite you in….

I let my mind's eye close, and studied my face in the mirror, watching myself sigh. I have a heart-shaped face, well-proportioned too, with smooth, pale skin and slightly more prominent cheekbones. My mouth was small, but my lips were fuller than most Nord women's, which made killing male targets very easy. Finally, I let my gaze settle on my blue-grey eyes, which could deceive even the most cynical. I had long lashes, and finely shaped eyebrows of a light brown. My hair was thick and fairly short: hanging just above my shoulders in bangs. I usually asked Babette or the Dunmer woman – I could rarely remember her name, probably because she and I rarely spoke otherwise – to braid my hair for me while out on small contracts. Now my light, mouse-brown hair hung loose, and I wasn't about to find someone and ask for help. I would have to go without a braid this time. I scowled, pulling up my hood and tucking my hair in, leaving my cowl down. I'd cover my mouth and nose once outside.

I didn't see anyone in the main room when I left, or the common room when I collected a pack and took three waterskins and a wineskin, which I filled with mead. Astrid's door was closed, and I could just hear voices inside, so I assumed she and Arnbjorn were having a discussion about him changing in the Sanctuary. She had an absolute distaste for that. Not that I blamed her – I'd seen it once before, and his armor had ripped to pieces. When he finally changed back, he was clad in nothing but his skin. Horridly embarrassing. Not that Arnbjorn ever cared. Now that the memory came back to me, I decided I would rather be a vampire if it ever came down to it. At least then the only time I would be naked was when I  _chose_  to be naked.

I snorted softly, pulling my cowl over my face and pulling the heavy stone door open. It was a long walk to Markarth, and I would need to head to Falkreath and see if I couldn't take a cart up to Markarth. Assuming someone took one down to Falkreath. All it meant if I didn't find one, was my journey would take longer and be a little more than slightly difficult. I preferred easy journeys, and buying a horse for myself was not yet an option – I had only just gotten one thousand gold from contracts and fencing my target's goods, and I wasn't prepared to give it all away for a horse. I had weapons and armor to repair, and poisons to buy!

"By Sithis!" I hissed, shaking my head and stamping a foot. I had forgotten to take a few bottles of Frost Poison. Oh well, I'd have to buy one. Or acquire one. Or meet a Frostbite spider, that's all. I wasn't going back now. The Sanctuary would see me again in a month or more, depending on travel and such. Assuming the contract was actually  _in_  Markarth. I sighed, glad for the cowl to take away just a little more of the bite Skyrim air had. Falkreath was in sight, and I'd spend the night there, to see if a traveller came by via a cart.

Hopefully there was a cart, just for me.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Cicero decided. He was going to apologize! He would find Alysa Ice-Wrath, and he would say that Cicero was sorry! He never meant to irritate her! Just say  _Good Morning_  and  _How Are You_ , that's all! Nothing else, no sweet Night Mother, nothing else. It wasn't dear Cicero's fault  _she_  had too much to drink! No no no! It wasn't. Cicero sighed as he skipped to the common room. Alysa wasn't there.

He skipped to where he heard she made potions sometimes. Only wonderful Festus was there. And the scary vampire-child, the un-child. Strange child, but Cicero thinks he might like her. He danced and sang all the way to the main room. The Argonian Veezara was there. Oh Cicero likes him a lot! Not as much as Alysa, though: no no! Alysa was much more interesting.

"Hello hello! Good day! Brother Argonian, have you seen Ice-Wrath Alysa?"

The green lizard-man blinked. "Alysa? She left to take care of a contract for Astrid. Not sure who, or where, but if she's fast we'll see her again in a month, if the contract happens in Markarth or close surrounds in that Hold," he answered.

Oh Cicero despaired! He wailed and cried out! "Oh! Sweet Mother! What must poor Cicero now do?! He can't say he's sorry now!" the green-man Veezara blinked, staring at Cicero. "Oh, thank you, Argonian! Dear Cicero shall await her return! But, perhaps we could talk about the Night Mother, our Unholy Matron?"

 

* * * * * * *

 

There hadn't been a cart that came the next morning, or that afternoon, or even that evening, but there  _had_  been an apothecary which  _didn't_  have any poisons. Or ingredients to make one. It made me want to kill.

So I did.

The male assistant had a horse, and he had been rude, so I followed him home, slit his throat, slashed his wrists and his chest and took the horse he had tethered to a post just outside. I took the man's gold and a few valuable gems, too. I'd eventually have to make my way to Riften's Ratway for a fence. I suppose I scared the townsfolk, because I rode out of town with a smile plastered on my face. I had taken my cowl off to look a little less suspicious. I was well past the Sanctuary before my euphoria started wearing off and I pushed the horse to a gallop. It might have been night, but I was going to travel as far as I could for as long as I could. I might be an assassin, but I wasn't entirely merciless: if something was useful to me, it would live much longer than it normally would have, if I could help it. This horse might see some hard times, but it would get the best care in others. I would take the road north and west past Lake Ilinalta, and at the second crossroads take the road heading west into the mountains, and to Markarth. At least a week, maybe a little more, on the road.

I stifled a yawn a little after midnight, and I could feel the horse was tired as well. We camped in a grove of trees, and I slept as though Sithis had claimed me as his own in the Void.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Bother and befuddle! Oh Mother, oh sweet Night Mother what must Cicero do?! Will he never hear your voice?! Oh he speaks and he listens Mother! The others are slowly coming around, yes they are! It's just that woman  _Astrid_  who speaks of heresies! She refuses to acknowledge you as her Unholy Matron! Oh sweet, dear Mother what must I do?! Will you never speak?! No! No you will never speak! Oh, oh Mother forgive me, forgive your humble Cicero! He meant no offense, no sweet Night Mother, he knows you will speak The Words when you are ready! Cicero has faith! Can Cicero dance and sing for you, oh dear Night Mother?

 


	3. Mourning Never Comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for this trashy teenage shitXD *dies from second-hand embarrassment at my own writing*

We arrived in Markarth fairly safe and sound, and I handed twenty gold pieces to the stable hand to look after my horse as best he could, and the boy's wide eyes gave away he had never seen so much gold in his life.

"Take excellent care of her, and there's more where that came from if you do. If not…" I trailed, touching my index finger to my neck and drawing it across. He nodded vigorously, not realizing I meant it literally. I smirked, sauntering over to the city gates. I had never been inside Markarth before: most of the contracts Nazir gave me were in little villages, caves, farms and the like.

There was so much that could go wrong in a city assassination, so many places to hide it was exciting! I could feel my heart begin to beat faster. I hoped my target was inside a city, be it Markarth or Winterhold, or anywhere in between. A guard stopped me, demanding gold to enter the city, no doubt having seen what I gave the stable hand. I glared at him, hands on my hips.

"That's preposterous!" I exclaimed, purposefully making my voice louder than necessary. "Do you really think I'm going to  _pay_  to get inside when–"

"Alright, alright!" the guard shushed, his hands trying to lower my voice. "Do you want all of Markarth to hear you? I'll just unlock the gate for you," he turned away fumbling for a key. It was all I could do to stop from sniggering as I passed him. If he hadn't been wearing that full-faced helmet, I'd bet he would be very pale. Or very flushed, I could care less which one: I just knew it was funny.

Markarth was a city built atop a sprawling set of Dwemer ruins, the name of which I was sure I had never heard before, and which I certainly couldn't pronounce. Apparently they were only now beginning to explore it. Rumors were rife in the city, and more than a few times I heard something about a 'Dragonborn' Bosmer, and then a 'Dragonborn' Altmer. Self-righteous creatures, all of them. Thrice-cursed elves; I hope Sithis claims them all for eternal pain and suffering in the Void. No matter if they were High, Wood or Dark. All could suffer and die in my opinion for all they had done to us Nords in the past, and currently. I suppose, had I been an ordinary citizen, and had I managed it when I was younger, I might have joined the Stormcloaks: I certainly had considered it once, when I had been sixteen. But a lot had happened before then, and after, and I found the life of an assassin suited me better.

I shook my head, coming back to the present and looking around me at the white city. It went up into the mountains, with streams and waterfalls all around, with little stone bridges across them everywhere. Interestingly enough, as high up as the paths went, there were no rails or walls to stop people from falling into the water or off high walkways. A chase in this city could easily result in an 'accident', where someone 'fell' to an untimely death: how exhilarating! Here was the place to assassinate in the dark, in secret; or in broad daylight, in public.

Oh well, it wasn't so bad, I supposed. I could disappear if I wanted to. I hefted my almost empty pack a little higher, and checked myself into an inn, asking the innkeeper for directions to The Hag's Cure. I nodded my thanks, leaving my pack in the room and locking the door with the key I had been given. Hopefully the apothecary would have poisons there. I felt empty without them. I wandered through the afternoon streets, making my way to my client.

I walked into the shop, and started looking around. I immediately found five – albeit weak – Frost poisons, and took them immediately. I cringed on the inside: there went about three-hundred gold.

I placed them on the counter, and a young woman smiled at me.

"Is this all?" she asked, her voice soft and kind.

I nodded curtly. "I'm also looking for Muiri."

The woman blinked. "I'm Muiri," her voice dropped, and she glanced around the empty store quickly, leaning closer and dropping her voice to a whisper. "Are you…? I mean, did they… the…." I raised my brows, my face probably screaming 'get to the point'. Muiri finally spat it out in a strained whisper: "Are you from the Dark Brotherhood?"

I leaned on the counter with both elbows, dropping a hip as I rested my leg. "Yes," I replied coolly, about to ask her about the contract when she got very excited.

"The Black Sacrament. It actually worked?"

I rolled my eyes. "Obviously. Now tell me what you need."

She was still grinning like an idiot, although I think a little taken aback. "What I need?" she echoed, then gathered resolve. "What I need is for Alain Dufont to die! I want him hunted down and murdered like the dog he is!"

 _Oh, another crime of passion!_  I commented sarcastically in my head. I looked at her expectantly. She didn't say anything else, just breathed deeply after her outburst. I sighed through my nose and straightened, both hands flat on the counter. "By Sithis, I need details! Get to the point."

The girl's mouth worked like a fish trying to breathe on land. I resisted the temptation to call her out on it. "I didn't know it when we were… _with each other_ …"

 _Oh, hurry it up!_  I thought, but she ploughed on instead.

"But Alain is actually the leader of a band of cutthroats. Bandits. They're holed up in some old Dwemer ruin – Raldbthar. It's near Windhelm. They use it as their base. It's where they stage their raids…" she trailed off, bitter. "I want you to go to that ruin, find Alain Dufont, and kill him. I don't care about his friends. Do whatever you want with them. But Alain has to die!"

I memorized the names of the places – I'd ask for clearer directions once in Windhelm. "It will be done," I said coldly.

"Excellent!" Muiri smiled. "Once Alain is dead, I'll pay you. In gold. I've saved up a bit, I hope that'll do. But, well… there is one more thing. If you're interested," she finished hesitantly. I raised a brow, cocking my head. "Speak."

"If you can, I want you to kill someone else –"

"Of course I can."

She blanched suddenly. Who did she think she was talking to? A lowly sellsword? I closed my eyes briefly in annoyance. Astrid hadn't mentioned they'd be  _stupid_. "Continue."

"You don't have to – not as part of our deal. But if you do… I'll pay you even more. It's Nilsine Shatter-Shield, in Windhelm. If Nilsine dies, too… I'll make it worth your while."

I nodded. She then blathered on about dear friends, and treachery and drowning in tears and blah, blah, blah before she finally stopped. "Anything else?" I asked. I was bored. Boredom doesn't still well with me.

She nodded quickly. "I planned to kill Alain myself, you know. Nilsine too. But I lost my nerve. I even brewed a special poison, Lotus Extract. Maybe you could use it? Just coat your weapon with it. Then… you get the idea."

 _Known it for eight years, my dear client,_  I sneered mentally in reply to her comment, nodding and taking up the seven bottles of poison she had given and sold to me, suddenly at half price. Might as well spend the night, and head out in the morning to the other side of Skyrim. Thank Sithis I had found myself a horse. I suppose also, I hadn't quite been as polite as I should have been, but then how can  _anyone_ take a polite, kind assassin seriously?

 

* * * * * * *

 

"Shut up, little man!"

Cicero stopped singing. That horrid wolf-man just  _NEVER_  leaves poor Cicero alone! What did sweet I do, Mother?

"Hmmmmm…" Cicero strokes his chin, pretends to think! Oh, Mother, he  _IS_  a terrible man! Mean wolf! "Cicero will go speak to the kind, wise wizard, then! He's  _always_  interested in Cicero's tales of the Night Mother and long-lost TRADITION!" Cicero lifts his head, and skips away before the wolf-man can do other mean things to sweet Cicero.

"Keeper." The fortune-teller!

Oh oh! Cicero  _must_  speak with her! "Hello dear sweet Sister!" Cicero bows, then clasps his hands at his chest. The dark she-elf looks him over very calmly, yes. Strange one, so calm.

"Keeper," she says again.

Can she say anything else, sweet Night Mother? Shall Cicero find out? "Oh, dear Sister! Perhaps we can talk about the Night Mother, and the manner –"

"Jester, do not think that I do not know about our past, or that I would not like to speak of it, but I am rather busy at the moment. I have predicted someone's death and must go to realize it," she sighs, and brushes past Cicero. Oh well, perhaps  _next_  time we shall speak! But she  _can_  say more than 'Keeper', Mother! Yes she can!

" _Oh, if I chance to see cat, I'll feed its corpse to my pet rat…_ " Cicero sings. He misses Alysa. He hopes she comes back! And soon! Oh, if he was Listener, he would ask Mother about her… what she was doing, if she was killing and murdering, and enjoying it as much as Cicero once did! For Sithis and the Night Mother! Cicero will welcome Alysa home, yes yes yes! He will! But no! Cicero serves the Night Mother first! He cannot stray! "Festus! Kind, wise wizard!"

"Yes, Cicero?" he replied. Cicero likes this wizard, yes ooh-hoo-hoo-hoo he does!

"What magics will you work today, with our Mother's blessing?"

 

* * * * * * *

 

I ended up walking and leading my horse every few days: I just couldn't sit in the saddle for that long. My usually two-month journey was drastically shortened to a little less than a month, and the cold, biting wind and snow of Windhelm was a strangely welcoming feeling. It made me itch to find my prey, and revel in the warmth of their crimson life-force as it flowed away…. I shivered in pleasure, grinning as I pulled my cowl down to speak with the stable hand, handing him a small coinpurse with a promise of more. I asked him about Raldbthar, but he could only tell me it was nearby, a few hours away. I nodded, pulling my cloak closer around me as I walked to Windhelm's city gates.

The guards let me pass without incident, and I briefly wondered again about joining the Stormcloaks as I stared up at the peaks of the Blue Palace. I eventually decided I'd get so happy killing that I'd turn on my own side, or go rogue and hunt on my own. I shrugged, grinning again, and made my way to an inn. I asked about Nilsine Shatter-Shield, got directions to her doorstep in connection with murders in the city, and found a strange Bosmer woman who gave me directions to Raldbthar. She looked almost like a vampire, but was warm, and almost like a wolf, but was too friendly. An Imperial male mage sat with her, and he smirked into his mug at something they had been talking about earlier, his lips barely moving as he murmured something. The elf turned to glare at him playfully, and I couldn't help but think they were lovers. I quickly moved away, and ordered myself a tankard of mead, savoring the golden liquid.

I'd scout Nilsine's house tonight, kill her tomorrow and make a run for Raldbthar, if things went badly. If I had any pursuit, I'd hopefully lose them in the mountains and snow.

I paid for a room, stored my things, changed into poor rags, and went for a walk to the Shatter-Shield house. It was near dusk. Before I knocked on the door, I smeared dirt over my face and arms. I was mostly to see who would answer. An old man came to the door; he looked as though he was bowed down by a great weight on his shoulders.

"Yes?" he asked.

I lowered my gaze, fidgeted. "Evenin' Sir. Sir, see, I's lookin' fer work, Sir. I cin do most anyth'n, Sir. Jus' a silver a week, Sir."

I heard him sigh, shift his weight, I cowered and flinched a little, just as I had been taught to when I was ten. "Alright," he conceded. "You can begin in the morning. Why don't you come inside, have a warm meal and some proper clothes? I think you may fit into some of my daughter's things."

He stood to one side, and I shuffled through quickly. "Oh, thank ye, kind Sir! Divines bless ye!" I waited with my head bent until he led me to a fire place, had me sit before it and his daughter – Nilsine, I presumed – brought a bowl of stew and some warm clothes to me. I kept up my pitiful beggar act, and had to concentrate on acting as though I really was starved, slurping food and being generally rude with it. So messy; I hated making a mess. Unless it involved daggers and blood and killing, of course. I didn't have to clean up any of that.

I almost smirked, thinking of how easy it had been to get in. I was sure getting out would be just as easy, assuming I was quiet about everything I did. Sadly this kill had to be quick, silent. I do so love to hear them scream and beg for mercy. I was allowed to take a warm bath, and shown to a room upstairs, conveniently situated next to Nilsine's. I might still leave Windhelm tonight. I lay in bed with my new clothes on, listening as the house quieted, waiting, each moment stretching an eternity into the Void. Eventually I got up, slowly padding down the stairs to get a kitchen knife. I hid it under my bodice, moving carefully so it didn't cut me. I stopped outside Nilsine's door, listening to the sounds of the house, and her deep breathing inside. I slowly opened her door, taking the knife out and holding it in my hand. I shut the door behind me, stepping closer and closer.

I felt a broad smile spread across my face, my senses sharpening. I was aware of every movement, sound, smell, taste. I didn't have poisons with me, but this would be far more pleasurable. I took a pillow from a chair, holding it in my left hand. I sliced through Nilsine's white throat, and smothered her face with the pillow before she could wake properly. I felt her writhe as she struggled to breathe, her blood filling her lungs before she gave in. I waited a while longer, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Her blood was there, warm, black in the night, and slightly coppery in taste. I carefully lifted the pillow, making sure she was properly dead before tossing it to a side, laying the knife on her bedside table and quickly washing as much blood off my visible body in her washbasin. I grinned back at my reflection, and walked out the front door. I stopped at the inn, changed into my armor and stuffed the clothes I had been given under the bed. I took my things and left, the sleeping innkeeper none the wiser. Nor would any other person, for that matter, until perhaps the morning. Oh, I loved being an assassin.

 

* * * * * * *

 

The following morning saw me watching the ruin of Raldbthar from a distance, scouting out the patrols, and I found there were two shifts of four men each – I could only take them out slowly, as each one veered out of sight of the others. I pulled my cowl higher over my face, and my hood down, tucking all loose strands of hair in. A sudden thought appeared: I wished Cicero was here to help me. I blinked, frowning.  _Why Cicero? I don't even know him all that well, or what he's capable of in the field._  I shook my head, and prepared to shoot down the bandits. I had a long day ahead.

I pulled my cowl down at dawn the next morning, sucking in a deep breath of frozen mountain air. Alain had proven himself a trained fighter, and although a challenge, he was no match for me. Or anyone now, for that matter. His entrails and blood was all over the main room of the Raldbthar Dwemer ruin. My horse was dozing quietly where I had left her, and I was glad to finally be headed home, almost. I couldn't wait to tell Cicero about this: I was sure he'd listen. I shook away further thoughts of the jester: why did I care, anyway? It wasn't as if we were friends, or even acquaintances. Just two Family members. I mounted, and rode south-west. I'd reach a road soon enough that way, ride for Whiterun, then across to Markarth for my payments. Then home! As much as I loved the thrill of travel, and the joys of assassinations, there was no feeling like going home to the Sanctuary….

 

* * * * * * *

 

Muiri had been all too pleased that I had killed both Alain and Nilsine, and she rewarded me with a generous amount of two-hundred gold and her Alchemy-enchanted ring, two-odd weeks ago. I was now a day's ride from the Sanctuary, and took a roundabout route to shake off potential followers and find a place to keep my horse. I found a strange clearing with a lava or tar pool, and left my horse in what looked a natural paddock with a small stream passing through, untacking the creature and making my way on foot to the Sanctuary door. I touched the handle, and felt shivers travel up and down my back as it asked its question.

" _What is the music of life?_ "

"Silence, my brother," I answered, and the stone shuddered, opening for me.  
" _Welcome, home…._ "

"ALYSA!"

I started, reaching for my daedric dagger only to be pinned to a wall and crushed in a bear hug. I struggled initially, but the embrace just got tighter. I suddenly realized it was the jester, and relaxed, letting him finish this ridiculous act. A thought vaguely mentioned how little I was compared to the jester, and how comforting it actually was to be held again, after so many years…. Once I relaxed, so did Cicero, but he still held onto me. Eventually, I awkwardly patted his back. I wasn't used to any kind of affection like this. I think I might like it….

 


	4. Innocence Lost, Madness Gained

**Chapter 4: Innocence Lost, Madness Gained**

Oh, she thought Cicero would let go! Hee-hee-hee! But no! Cicero will hug his sister, his petite, little sister! And she hugged him back! Ooh-hoo! Cicero is so happy! He lets Alysa go, but holds her at arm length. "Welcome home, sweet Sister! Oh, Cicero wondered when you would return! Tell us, oh tell us about the kill! Did you make your target bleed? Scream? Beg for mercy? Poison, magic –"  
"Cicero," she interrupted, quiet but cold and deadly like her daedric daggers! Cicero listened, but he wishes he could listen to Mother!

 

* * * * * * *

 

I stared at Cicero, for a moment lost for words. What was I going to say? I had just realized how much taller he was than me – I only just made it to his shoulders – and how perfectly I had fit into his embrace. "Yes, Alysa? What did you want to say to Cicero?"  
I started, blinking. "I don't remember…."  
"OH!" Cicero clapped, bouncing on his feet. "Cicero know how to help his sweet sister remember! She has travelled far –" he swept his arms to one side, "– and wide –" he swept his arms to the other side, "and Alysa will want food! Mead! And then you  _must_  tell me what you did! How you killed your target, and–"  
"Hm, no," I interrupted, half-smiling coyly as I brushed past him, his expression falling as he thought I blew him off. "Target- _ss_."  
"More than one? Oh, oh, oh! Cicero must know! Tell us, dear sweet sister!"  
"Of course, Brother. But first, as you said, a tankard of mead and a plate of food is calling," I said over my shoulder.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Cicero watched her walk away, lightly swaying hips, coy smile – oh, she is so… Cicero doesn't think there is a word for Alysa. He just knows that he will follow Alysa, and whatever happens, he will stay with her. Oh, he can't wait to hear her stories! The way she hunted and killed… Cicero skipped closer, linked her arm with his. "So, Sister, tell humble Cicero about your target- _sssss_."

Oh, sweet Night Mother, she laughed. Cicero will forever remember  _that_  laugh, not the same one as the last jester Cicero killed – oh, no, no! This one is so full of life, so full of a dark passion for serving our Dread Father and Unholy Matron – Cicero believes there is something special about this one, something there that there hasn't been in a very long in any of the many Families Cicero has been to – of that, this Keeper is fairly sure.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Cicero kept good company, actually. Or at least, he kept good company with me. Nazir wasn't overly fond of him, calling Cicero a clown under his breath every now and again, and a Fool outright whenever he referred to the Keeper directly while we were in the dining hall eating, and eventually I think he had enough of an almost-mellow Nord woman-assassin and a loud jester-assassin, so he left. Cicero listened attentively when I told him about Nilsine, Alain and Muiri, and offered some useful tips on assassinating targets.

But he didn't give all that much about himself, when I asked – some things he refused to say, and anything I asked was cleverly and very easily deflected, just as one might deflect swords with swords. Once or twice he actually almost managed to force me to share my own past, so I gave up on asking him about his, eventually. Partly because it was getting old to have my questions sidestepped, and partly because the mead was making me feel a little warm and fuzzy, and partly because I had no intention of sharing something I wasn't interested in reliving just yet, with someone I didn't know all that well.

I can't remember a time I had laughed as much as now, and we eventually made our way to the beds, arm in arm again. I sighed, dropping my weapons on the bed. "Cicero, you and I will speak again tomorrow, but for now, there are things I must do.  _Alone_ ," I added when he looked a little excited.  
"Of course, sweet Alysa! Cicero wishes you a night blessed by the Dread Father and the Night Mother!" he turned abruptly, skipping and humming as he disappeared to wherever he kept the Night Mother, probably. I sighed, taking out my robes and heading for the washrooms to soak for a while.

I was content, and peaceful.  _Thanks to the kill, the mead and Cicero_ , I felt a smile of a different kind spread over my face as I let myself sink a little deeper into the water with my eyes closed. What was this feeling, so sudden and new to me?

 

* * * * * * *

 

Astrid found me a short while after I came out of the natural caverns. She looked more than a little worried, and the urgency with which she seemed to call me before turning away and striding to her chambers annoyed me. I frowned, deliberately being careful with my things before I went to her chambers, and trying to get serious enough after my very mellow and slightly drunk mood before making my way to where she leaned on a large table, a map of Skyrim staked to it with two steel and two iron daggers.

"You called, Astrid?"

She looked up, then flashed a lazy grin. "How did the first contract go?"  
I nodded, deciding to keep Nilsine's murder out of the conversation. "Very well. Muiri was pleased, and as you said, generous."  
"Very good," Astrid nodded, turning back to the map before straightening. "Alysa, there is a matter I want  _you_  to take care of."  
"Alright," I agreed. Since when did I 'take care' of matters? I suppose I should be grateful for this… _promotion_ , but I can't say it was expected: I had been protected from the beginning, being the only 'new' recruit to have made it past my third contract in years. "Go on."

"It's… Cicero…" Astrid started, wary of my reaction for some reason. She also sounded a little exasperated. "While you were out on your contract, and ever since he arrived, really, his behavior has been…" Astrid sighed. "Well, erratic would be an understatement. I do believe he is truly mad. But it's worse than that."  
She stopped talking. Oh, I  _hated_  it when she did this – this leading-on, around-the-bend kind of talk. "Tell me what he's done," I tried not to sigh.  
"He's taken to locking himself in the Night Mother's chamber, and talking," Astrid dropped her voice. "To someone. In hushed, but frantic tones."  
I frowned deeper. Cicero  _did_  talk to himself sometimes; that much I gathered from the first time I saw him to now. I wondered briefly if Astrid knew that, but then, why tell her that? Surely she already realised he wasn't completely together… she  _had_  said that herself, after all. But I would do what she told me to: she  _is_  my leader, after all…. "Are you sure you aren't just being a little too paranoid, Astrid?"  
She glared at me briefly, then turned away, rubbing her hands together. She started pacing. "A little healthy paranoia has kept this Family alive for as long as it has. I want to know what they're planning, Alysa. I fear treachery. As the Night Mother's Keeper, Cicero believes he's entitled to the rule of this Sanctuary. He will cite our independence as undisciplined, unruly and heretical. He will claim we must revert to the Old Ways. Ironically," Astrid sneered, "the Night Mother may be just as much a victim. The Queen in a fool's game of chess…."  
"What do you want me to do?" I said softly, coldly. I don't like spying on my Family; it was wrong in so many ways I cannot begin to explain: it felt like betrayal to me, and wasn't that in the Five Tenants? Something about betrayal was in them.  
"Dear Sister," Astrid said, turning to stand in front of me. "I need  _you_  to steal into that chamber, eavesdrop on their conversation. Clinging to the shadows won't help you. They will surely see you…" she paused, thinking.  _No, no don't ask me to do_ that _, Astrid…._  "The Night Mother's coffin is an ideal place."

I scowled, feeling my blood run cold. It was sacrilege! I might not have had much of an idea of what the Night Mother actually did for the Dark Brotherhood anymore, but she was a part of us, and what Astrid was asking was sacrilege! Never mind that no sane Nord would willingly climb into the same coffin as the dead! "When should I find him?" I asked instead, my voice low and steady. Astrid narrowed her eyes at me, realizing that something about her request was bothering me. She went on about how I had actually already missed Cicero today, and that I would have to hide tomorrow at least an hour before dinner in the Night Mother's coffin.

I left feeling more than a little sour, and a little afraid of desecrating the Night Mother's coffin: it was foolish to disturb the dead, and especially one who was reputed to be supernatural.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Cicero went back to find Alysa after he looked after his sweet, dear Mother, but she – Alysa, not his Mother, although Mother was always sleeping – was sleeping! So peaceful, she looked, sweet Mother. Surely you bless her with cold dreams of death and murder!

Yes! I know! Oh, Cicero can't help himself, sweet Mother!

He just has to… Cicero padded closer to her bed, knelt next to her. So pretty, this little Nord woman! So fair, so fine…. Oh, that she were mine! Cicero giggled, but quickly clapped a hand over his mouth. Such a pretty creature, Mother. Blessed by our Dread Father as well, with her skill.

Just one touch… that's all Cicero wants.

But what if she wakes up and she fights with poor Cicero again?

Dear Cicero doesn't want that! No no no! He knows he will let her win, now. I will not fight back, just ask Alysa Ice-Wrath to stop fighting poor, sweet Cicero. That's all  _I_  would do. But he would like to fight  _with_  her. Cicero sighs. He will  _not_  touch her cheek, he will  _not_  brush her hair away from her face… No, not Cicero. Maybe never Cicero. "Cicero is coming, sweet Night Mother," he whispers, standing and leaving dear Alysa. Perhaps one day he  _might_  do all this, and more, for his Alysa. Perhaps. But now, now all this humble Fool of Hearts has is you, Unholy Matron.


	5. Whispers in the Dark, Barely

**Chapter 5: Whispers in the Dark, Barely**

I awoke to a fairly calm and good morning, although I wasn't sure why I was so  _very_  happy. I felt light, as though I might fly away any second. I wasn't sure if I liked the feeling, or if I even really knew what it was. I waited for Cicero to start talking, to say something to greet me. But there was nothing but silence that greeted me. I opened my eyes as I rolled over to lie on my back, folding my hands over my stomach.

A strange pain throbbed in my heart, and I unconsciously rubbed it, frowning. What was it, that I felt that? I hoped I wasn't getting sick or something. I would have to ask Babette about it. The throbbing eased a little as my thoughts turned to more practical things, and I sauntered through the many rooms and corridors to the dining hall for breakfast. Veezara was there, and Festus very briefly before muttering something about a revelation and disappearing to where he practiced his magic. I took a bowl of some sort of stew or soup, and sat down across from the Argonian.

Conversation was light, and I detailed again my contract with Alain, and the travelling. Veezara listened intently when I mentioned the Dwemer ruins, and he asked me hundreds of questions about them. Most had me simply gaping at him. I had no idea what he was talking about, and eventually he settled on asking me to mark it on his map later. Apparently he quite enjoyed exploring them, when he had the chance. We cleaned our bowls and I headed over to where I knew Babette would be busy with her potions.

"Good Morning, Alysa!" Cicero called, skipping towards me and stopping just in front of me, leaning close until out noses almost touched.

It was a little disconcerting, really.

"Uhm… good morning, Cicero," I replied, using a lot of my will not to pull back, to take that one step backwards to see him properly. Suddenly Cicero straightened, cackling, then spun around in a circle, hands behind his back. "Good good good! The Fool of Hearts must make his start!" he danced and skipped away, and I couldn't help but feel a little bewildered and hurt that he had just disappeared. Again.

I sighed, the faintest of smiles on my face anyway. I heard Babette chuckle softly, a wry half-smile on her child's face as she turned back to her alchemical apparatus. "What?" I asked, coming closer to watch her.  
"Oh, it's an interesting pair, but I think it will be good for both of you," she said, reaching to another table for some strange root I had never seen before.  
I frowned. "What, or who, is an interesting pair?"  
Babette froze, the knife she had just picked up hovering over the root. She looked incredulously at me. "Are you serious, Alysa?" she paused briefly, then turned back to cutting the root. "Hm, I suppose you are. Whenever  _he_  is near, you feel as if the world is kinder, safer. You can do anything and nothing can stop you, but as soon as he's gone, you feel lost, alone, and there's that ache right  _here_ ," Babette stopped to touch where my heart was. The same place I had felt that dull throb this morning. Then she turned away, looking sad for a moment. "You only get an opportunity like this once in your life, Alysa. Use it, take it and never let it go."  
I was confused, a little angry about what the vampire child had told me, though I knew I had no reason to be. Had I really missed something so important about myself? I stalked away, and I thought I heard her mutter something like, "This is when I envy any mortal."

Was what she was saying true, assuming I had understood what she meant?

 

* * * * * * *

 

Ah, it is a fair day today! Cicero hasn't been outside yet, no no no! But I  _know_  it is a fair day! I saw Alysa! He knows that he will have a good day, Mother! Oh, Cicero is happy…. He will come to oil you soon, Mother! It is almost time again for Mother to be cleaned, to glean with a wondrous sheen!

"Cicero," a quiet voice – a cold voice – calls him. Oh, Dread Father! Is this what you felt for our Mother?  
"Yes, sweet Sister Alysa?" Cicero turns on his heels, his hands clasped behind – not in front! – of his back. Cicero wonders what it would feel like to clasp his hands in front of his back – he supposes it would be uncomfortable, since he can only clasp them in front of his body, which isn't in front of his back – though, it could be… but that's all very confusing to Cicero; he should stop thinking about that now.

She looks confused, and hurt for some reason! Cicero will find whoever did that and turn them inside-out and make them do cartwheels! Wrap them in their intestines! Skip with them! Alysa frowns at Cicero: she sees him scowl. "Cicero was thinking of doing horrid things to mean people," he explains. "What can humble Cicero help you with?"  
Alysa pursed her lips. Such pretty lips…. "Would you train with me? If you can, that is –"  
"If Cicero can?! Cicero was an assassin just like you, too! Before he was Keeper! Then the Keeper must keep and not take like the Taker! Yes! Alysa is a Taker! Ah-ha ha ha ha!" Cicero laughs. Oh, that was clever of the Fool of Hearts! Alysa blinked, raising a brow at Cicero. He just smiles at her. "Very well, sweet Sister. Cicero will train with you. What would you like to start with? I am best with the knife, and the sword, but Cicero also knows a little about martial arts and the bow. But not very much with the bow, not at all. Not an elf, you see, it was not to BE!"  
Alysa is close to laughing, Cicero sees, but she is interested too. She wants to know what Cicero knows. A little unbelieving, too, he thinks. "Come, Alysa! We shall train to avoid being slain!"  
"Fair enough," she agrees, walking next to happy Cicero to the training area. There we will take wooden swords, if she wants swords, or we will dance hand-to-hand, if she wants. Cicero isn't sure how much she knows, but he is sure there is much she can still learn. And he will teach her! Yes! And –  
"Veezara!" she called, greeting the Argonian.

Cicero frowned  _inside_ , but smiled  _outside_. This was  _Cicero's_  time with Alysa… but maybe now he could see Alysa fight, and know what to teach her. Cicero knows he is good, fighting has saved him and Mother many times before, just never his Sanctuary. Cicero isn't listening to what they are saying, but he sees Veezara look at him. Blankly, like all Argonians do. Cicero wonders if they  _can_  show emotion, but Cicero will never know – or maybe he just hasn't spent enough time with them to see what emotions they have. Cicero grins brightly for them, wishing he could have his sweet sister to himself.

 

* * * * * * *

 

"Veezara!" I called, greeting the Argonian. He was probably the only one of all the people of all the Beast races I could stand, really. The Shadowscale raised a hand in greeting, his tail-tip twitching all the time. He was already in the training area, and we often trained together. "Alysa! How are you today?"  
"I'm alright, especially after having completed my first  _real_  contract!"  
"I've heard that many times today," he laughed. "Are you here to train?" Veezara asked, his eyes moving carefully between me and Cicero.  
I nodded. "Cicero and I are going to train."  
Veezara looked at Cicero, his face blank to someone who doesn't spend time with him, but I could see he was a little incredulous, just as I am about what exactly Cicero knows about fighting. "I see…" he eventually said, nodding slowly in a way only an Argonian could. I was glad Cicero was a little behind me, because I was wearing an expression that might have insulted him – I didn't really believe he knew all that much. Oh well, that's just the humor of it, not so?

"Perhaps Cicero will watch first, it has been a long time since he has fought, so Cicero would like to refresh his memory."  
Veezara and I turned to look at Cicero, his face serious for once. But I could have sworn I saw a light glow in his eyes. I wasn't sure what it meant, but surely nothing good. Nothing  _innocent_ , at least – you'd have thought that a jester would be innocent, regardless of his occupation, but not this one….

I nodded, and turned back to the Shadowscale. "Hand-to-hand?" he checked.  
I nodded, bending my knees a little as we circled each other, the Argonian's tail swinging lazily from side to side. My fists were raised, at the ready, so was his. The world narrowed until it was just me, my opponent and our immediate environment.

Everything happened quickly then: right fist, duck, left foot, rise, move, kick, block, attack and dodge.

I felt myself move through all the positions easily, keeping up with Veezara, dodging his claws easier than I had the last time we trained.

Then his tail whiplashed me from behind. I was going down, rolling to face him but he was already on me.

We struggled for the upper-hand, and I was suddenly aware of Cicero moving then making himself stand still.

Those precious seconds cost me a narrow victory.

Veezara flipped me over onto my stomach, bending my left arm behind my back. I struggled briefly, but stopped when my shoulder started screaming in pain and Veezara's claws pricked my skin. "You're getting better, Alysa," the Shadowscale said, releasing me and standing. I rubbed my arm, then shrugged my shoulder a few times before I stood up. I was a sour loser, especially in front of an audience. "You're still too distracted by other things. In a fast fight you do well, but something that lasts will kill you," the Argonian continued. I bit my tongue to stop from giving out snide remarks. I  _knew_  that, now it was just a matter of  _fixing_  that. I nodded curtly.

"Cicero has an idea!"

I glared at the jester. He seemed unfazed my glare, and Veezara seemed mildly interested. "Cicero will take you to Falkreath, and there Cicero thinks he can show you some things about concentrating, Alysa." He actually looked hopeful. What about, I wouldn't know. Veezara suddenly smiled. Apparently this was something 'older' assassins recognized. "Fine, let's go," I conceded, turning to Cicero.  
Cicero was nodding violently. I briefly wondered if he would kill himself nodding so hard. "First, Alysa must change into  _normal_  clothes, not from the Dark Brotherhood! And Cicero must make sure the Night Mother is safe while he is gone, so Cicero will meet you outside the Door!"  
I sighed. "Fine, alright. I'll see you there." I watched Cicero skip away.  
Veezara chuckled softly. "I don't know what he has planned for you, Alysa, but I think you should try it," he said, then went on to practice more by himself. I stalked to my chest, digging in it for something vaguely resembling something halfway normal. I eventually found a dress at the very bottom, one of those the serving girls wore in taverns – thankfully  _not_  that very short, revealing  _thing_  some wore – with open shoulders. I shrugged, raising my brows as I pulled it out.

It would surely still fit me.

I had managed to avoid each and every single member of the Family after I had put on the dress. I felt like an intruder, really. It was  _horrible_. I felt exposed, vulnerable without my armor, and Dark Robes. I sat on a boulder outside, waiting for Cicero to come. I probably hadn't been here for long, but it felt like forever, and if he didn't arrive soon I was going back inside and nothing except a contract would get me out again. I was about to stand up when the door opened, and Cicero stepped out.  
He was still a jester – but dressed more like a normal person, and that ridiculous hat was gone, his auburn hair loose. I was struck speechless for a moment, thinking for just a moment that maybe,  _maybe_  the jester I had come to know was gone: the Fool of Hearts was still inside the Sanctuary, and the man had come out.

"What does Alysa think of Cicero? He feels too normal, but he must put the Fool of Hearts to one side for now."  
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, laughing and standing up. "You know, Cicero, for a moment there I thought you were someone else," I admitted. "But it looks good."  
Cicero beamed at me, clasping his hands at his heart. "Cicero is glad you like it!" he paused, looking torn for a moment as his eyes ran over me quickly. "I would like to know… if you would link arms with Cicero while we walk to Falkreath City."  
I smiled. "I have a better idea."  
"Oh?"

I motioned for him to follow me.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Cicero had been thoroughly pleased to see a horse, and mounted quickly once he had insisted on tacking up by himself, lifting me into the saddle in front of him easily. I felt unstable sitting sideways in a skirt, and sharing a saddle with another person, although I was comforted by the fact that Cicero could apparently ride well. The crazy jester was full of surprises, as I quickly learnt. We made it to the city fairly quickly, Cicero singing some ridiculous song at the top of his lungs. Thrice-cursed bards…. But I couldn't help but feel happy, a feeling that wasn't natural to me, and left me feeling wary, and as if my senses were dulled at the same time. I was letting go of control, something I had rarely done before.

We left my horse on the outskirts, and walked in. I almost expected Cicero to link arms with me, but he was just walking very close. He was too close, in fact. It made me a little uncomfortable.

"Tell me, sweet sister," he whispered in my ear, "what would you like to do in this city with dear Cicero? Perhaps we should go prank the inn-keepers, or assassinate a random stranger for our Dread Father and Unholy Mother! Or we could dance, or run around Falkreath naked, but it's cold and Cicero would rather not do that, since he is an Imperial and he'll get very sick very quickly. But  _you_  can, if you want – you  _are_  a Nord…. Cicero will make sure the guards don't stop you," he giggled, his face still by my ear.  
I felt my face flood with warmth, something I couldn't remember having ever done, no matter what I had seen or done. "Let's maybe start with an assassination. Show me how it's done."  
Cicero chuckled, the sound almost sending shivers down my spine. I had never expected him to sound so… sinister. "Yes, sweet sister, I will show you, and then  _you_  will show  _Cicero_."

He bounded off suddenly, and I wanted him close again, suddenly wishing I hadn't said anything. What had I just unleashed on this pitiful town?

Then again, they could do with the excitement.

We had wandered into a street market, and I watched Cicero approach a vendor.  _What now?_  I thought, wandering to a jewellery stand for no reason other than it was closest. Cicero started talking animatedly with the shopkeep, his arms flying from side to side and brushing across the tabletop. I glanced down at the amulet in beneath my fingers, then again at the weapon stand. Cicero was gone – melting into the crowd. I suddenly realized he had swept one of the daggers in one of his wild gestures.

He walked up behind a man whom I had once seen harass a girl not much younger than myself. He suddenly swayed in the thick of the crowd, and Cicero pushed past him. Then his auburn hair was gone. A woman screamed, blood on the front of her dress, all the way to the hem of her skirt as the man had fallen to the ground against her and her knees gave in. I hadn't even  _seen_  the kill. It just happened. And Cicero was gone. Everyone was gathering around the body, guards arriving on the scene shoving through the throng. A hand touched the small of my back, and I spun round, raising my knee and my left fist to punch. I was quickly subdued, held tightly to someone.

"How did you think that went, Alysa?" Cicero asked, letting go of me as soon I calmed down a little. I frowned. No-one had  _ever_  managed to sneak up on me before. "Cicero thinks you don't pay much attention to what is behind you," he continued as if he hadn't asked a question.  
"It was impressive. I didn't even see it –"  
"AH!  _That_  is your problem! Alysa doesn't  _see_ , she  _glances_. Cicero knows you can do better than him, if you pay attention and learn. You could kill anywhere, anytime, even with a guard next to you." He grinned, a devilish fire in his steel-grey eyes.

I narrowed my eyes. I could take the challenge. "Pick one, anyone in this city," I dared him. I would prove I was just as capable, and better because I wasn't the Keeper;  _I_  was out on contracts and  _I_  killed more often than he did – and until I knew some more of his story, I was sure I had killed more than him, anyway. Cicero looked over the crowd, and grinned. "That boy, sweet sister, is the one you must kill for me," he said softly, pointing at a young man, perhaps a farmer from around here. Not that there was all too much to farm, unless you liked goats and cows.

He seemed the least interested in the murder, even looking a little sick at the thought of a dead human. He carried a short iron sword with him, and he was heading out of Falkreath to the south. I followed him with my eyes, waiting a while longer before I followed him: I knew a shorter route out, and if he continued south he would come across me for sure. I listened to the world around me, and Cicero was somewhere further behind, waiting and watching.

There was something of a sparse forest, and the area was hilly, rocky and not the best for a hapless, helpless woman in a dress. I passed a bush with blue berries, and crushed a few against my ankle, pleased with the dark blue stain on my skin. The road was just ahead and I could hear someone coming. I frowned at my blue-stained hand – my only give-away – then started running, clutching my skirts as I jumped over a few things, then crashed onto the road, feigning a fall.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Cicero will admit, she was clever with the berries. To pretend she was hurt! Very clever, but she fell soon after, and Cicero almost ran to help her when she cried out, holding her ankle carefully. Was Alysa really hurt? Or was she pretending? Cicero hoped she was pretending… the boy he pointed out to her came running to help. Cicero watched them talk, wasn't really listening because the boy was lifting her – arms around her small waist – and she was hiding her hand from him. The blue one, with the berry juice. Cicero watched her other hand trail over the boy's chest, and Cicero knew fury. Oh, sweet Night Mother stay humble Cicero's hand! I must let Alysa show me how she does it… so Cicero knows how to show her better.

Alysa was still touching him – the boy, not Cicero, though Cicero might have liked it if she touched Cicero – close to his sword, and she was smiling, talking softly and the boy looked bashful. Oh, Cicero likes that word! Bashful… as the Fool of Hearts should be!

Cicero shakes his head, he must concentrate! Alysa's hand was around the hilt – oh, clever Nord woman! So very clever…. The boy didn't even have time to look shocked when she sliced right through his throat! Leaping free from his arms! And she smiled at him, so sweetly, so darkly! Ooh-hoo! She is cold, cruel! Just as a True Assassin should be! She turns to Cicero, her face and top of her dress a little bloody. Well, very bloody.

"Cicero commends you on your kill, sweet Sister, and he thinks we should ride back. I think you're a gifted assassin, much worthier than that…" he stops himself from singing her praise: he doesn't know how much Alysa likes Astrid.  
"So much worthier than who?" she asked dear Cicero, coming closer after she dropped the sword. "Be honest with me, Cicero."  
"Much worthier than that  _harlot-pretender_ , Astrid," Cicero spat. How  _dare_  she mock the Night Mother and her Keeper? Alysa smiled, chuckling wryly. But she shook her head and walked on past Cicero. What did that mean? That Alysa agreed? "What do you think of that, Alysa?"  
"Me?" she turned, pointing at herself. Cicero was about to say Who Else when she went on. "I think Astrid is a little too attached to her way of doing things, but then, it  _has_  kept this Family alive, while none of the others have made it…" she paused, walking through the forest with Cicero right behind. Oh, she was so pretty…. "I guess I don't know what it had been like to have a Listener, and how things had been before. Tell me about the Night Mother, and the Listener, and everything as it had been, Cicero. I want to know what the Dark Brotherhood is now missing."

So Cicero told her: the Listener listened to the Night Mother, when she heard the prayers the normal people prayed through the Black Sacrament, and how the Listener would come to be again once The Words were spoken. Cicero told Alysa about the Speakers, the fingers to the Black Hand, where the Listener was the thumb, and how the five children the Night Mother killed for Sithis were kept alive that way. Though, Cicero supposes, once it's dead it's always dead, unless they serve the Dread Father in the Void. Alysa listened, Alysa learned and Cicero thinks she might join him in his plan for later. But Cicero will see.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I was still processing everything Cicero had told me when we eventually got around to our side of Falkreath again, and rode back to the Sanctuary. If all of what he said was even halfway true, shouldn't this remaining Family search for the Listener? Shouldn't we be recruiting more members, maybe taking young ones who showed promise and raise them to be one of us? Honorhall would be full of young children we could mould and shape into the perfect assassin. Wouldn't that ensure our survival, along with reverting to the Old Ways? I didn't –  _couldn't_  – know, and it seems things went backwards after a Listener in the Third Era disappeared when some portal opened in the Niben Bay.

Maybe one day I would travel south and see if this portal was still there, and find out about why the Listener left Tamriel, and what was on the other side. Cicero couldn't tell me much about it: just that it had been a strange island that had appeared and never really gone away, and no-one went in. It was too much for me to think about, and when we arrived at the Door a little after dusk, we were still silent. Cicero bade me a merry night of murder, and disappeared down a separate passage. I slapped my hand to my forehead: I still hadn't spied on Cicero's mystery conversation.

What's to say he wasn't just talking to himself or the Night Mother, in the hopes she would talk to him? I was more convinced now than before that was _exactly_ what he was doing.


	6. The Listener? Me? You've Got to be Kidding

**Chapter 6: The Listener? Me? You've Got to be Kidding**

Ah, sweet Night Mother, your humble Cicero had so much trouble containing himself today! Oh, to see his Alysa in that dress… oh he had  _wanted_  her there and then! He had been so taken with how beautiful this assassin looked he could barely think! He felt as if he had been stabbed! In the chest! With a burning red-hot dagger!

Oh, Cicero had to tack up the horse to calm himself down, do something because he needed to think of something else. Cicero liked the way the belt fit around her waist, and the cut of the dress's bodice….

"There, Mother. All finished now!" Cicero puts the oils away, coming back to the now, although Now isn't a place so Cicero can't leave or come back, and closes the Night Mother in her standing coffin. He locks it, too: no one can defile the Night Mother! Not while the Keeper is here! Cicero tidies the room and oils and other necessary things to keep the Night Mother ready for the Listener. "Will Mother still not speak to Cicero? Not even if you, oh Unholy Matron, take the laughter, the jester? Cicero would do anything,  _ANYTHING_  to earn this honor! Oh, Mother, sweet and loving Mother, I know I can still save the Family, I can still bring back the Old Ways!" Humble Cicero waited for the Night Mother to speak.

But she didn't, and Cicero is beginning to think she won't. Who will be Keeper after Cicero?

He makes his way to his private chambers, bathing and eating by himself, his room is just outside the Night Mother's room, and his bed is in the passage between the Night Mother and his chambers. Cicero supposes they're not very private, since there is one door that goes STRAIGHT through, and if he doesn't close it, anyone looks in. That's why Cicero locks it, too: it stops that harlot and her lumbering lapdog from defiling the Unholy Night Mother!

Cicero thinks about Alysa: she had been so taken with the Old Ways she hadn't said another word to poor Cicero. Just a quick Good Night, that's all. Oh what must Cicero do?! He doesn't think she will accept his claim, for the Fool of Hearts is just that: a fool. But maybe she will think differently…. But Cicero won't know if he doesn't say. Cicero must see if he can tell Alysa about this…. Cicero lay down on top of his bed, his fingers laced together under his head.

He wished he could stare at the stars.

 

* * * * * * *

 

"Dammit!" I breathed, my hands shaking.

I couldn't hold the picks properly, couldn't get the lock open that kept the Night Mother inside. I shook my head, breathed deep and closed my eyes briefly.

 _I can do this_ , I started again, breathing a sigh of relief when the lock clicked open. Thank Sithis the coffin was upright, and the lock was built into the coffin. I pried it open, and flinched at the thought of the sacrilege I was committing. I stepped in anyway, and shut the door behind me. I was much too close to this husk of a woman's corpse, and although she smelt of nothing, she was still the Night Mother, and her gaping mouth and head cocked to one side was frightening in the light, and now I was shut in the dark, almost chest to chest with her.

It was  _wrong_.

I closed my eyes, or at least I thought I did, it was still black either way, and breathed deeper, forcing myself to calm down and think of the day that had passed.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Festus and Gabriella had left sometime after I left on my trip with Cicero, and Veezara had left in the morning. Babette wasn't particularly interested on feeding to endure the daylight, so Nazir had sent me out on a minor contract. Close-by, easy kill. Well, I charged the victim from behind with my horse and cut him down. When I heard he was still moaning I rode over him. Can't say the horse was pleased about it, but I  _had_  been allowed to kill as I pleased. I was out on a road about a morning's hard ride away, and I needed to get back to spy on Cicero. Otherwise I would have taken my time, enjoyed the kill.

Damn Astrid and her paranoia! I had better things to do. I really didn't want to do this, but I could only avoid Astrid for so long. So, I was here, in the Night Mother's coffin, waiting for Cicero to come in. I had never been to this part of the Sanctuary before. I hadn't really known it existed until now. And I now knew where Babette slept as well: only a vampire can sleep on a stone bed. Oh well. I sighed softly, breathing deeper as I finally started relaxing. I was still burning the adrenaline from the chase, the kill and the ride, and it wasn't helping my nerves. I hope Astrid had a valid excuse for making me do this other than her un-assassin-ly paranoia.

Ridiculous.

I kept my eyes closed, leaning my hands against the back of the coffin as I conjured up an image of Cicero's face to distract myself. He was an attractive Imperial, at least to me. His steel-grey eyes especially got to me.  _I am in love with Cicero,_  I finally admitted to myself. It felt good, so I repeated it in my head.  _I am in love with Cicero._  I grinned.  _And I'm in the Night Mother's coffin,_  the random thought popped into my head and I sniggered silently, the idea suddenly was very funny. What would Cicero do if I spoke from  _inside_  the coffin? I swallowed my laughter immediately when I heard humming and the door being closed, but not locked. I wondered why, briefly. I supposed I wouldn't have heard the almost silent 'click' from inside a coffin. But now I needed to spy.

Cicero kept humming, busying himself in the room. I almost wanted to know what he was doing, exactly. But then he started speaking.

"Sweet solitude," Cicero sighed. I wondered if that was how he felt with me…. "Everything is going according to plan. The others… I've spoken to them. And they're coming around, Cicero knows it! The wizard, Festus Krex… perhaps even the Argonian, and the un-child…. Cicero does like her, strange one that, and," he paused, "Alysa…" he breathed, softly, sweetly as if my name was a rare honey to him. It warmed my otherwise cold heart, really. Made me smile to think I meant so much to someone else. "What about you? Have you… have you spoken to anyone?" Cicero moved, waiting for a response that evidently didn't come. He continued a little bitterly. "No…. No, of course not.  _I_  do the  _talking_ , the  _stalking_ , the  _seeing_  and  _saying_! And what do  _you_  do?  _Nothing_!" Cicero hissed. I could almost see him pace. He sighed, amending himself. "Not… not that I'm angry! No, never! Cicero understands. Heh," he laughed uneasily, nervously. "Cicero  _always_  understands! And obeys! You will talk when you're ready, won't you? Won't you… sweet Night Mother?"

"Poor Cicero. Dear Cicero. Such a humble servant. But he will never hear my voice. For he is  _not_  the  _Listener_ …."

I froze, wide-eyed and ready to bolt. I hadn't heard anyone else enter, and Cicero wasn't responding to that. He continued his soliloquy about defending the Night Mother and exerting her will.  _Surely she hasn't spoken to_ me,  _has she?_  I wondered, relaxing again. Cicero was moving around a lot on the outside.  
_Oh, but I_ will  _speak. I will speak to_ you. _For_ you _are the one_ , the woman's voice continued.  
_Me?_  I thought wildly.  
_Yes, you. You, who shares my iron tomb, who warms my ancient bones. I give you this task - journey to Volunruud. Speak with Amaund Motierre._

I wasn't really listening to Cicero anymore, although I heard what he said next, how he despaired. "Poor Cicero has failed you! Poor Cicero is sorry, sweet Mother. I've tried, so very hard! But I just can't find the Listener!"

 _How can I convince him_ I _am the Listener? Do I really even know what that means?  
Tell Cicero the time has come. Tell him the words he has been waiting for, all these years: 'Darkness rises when silence dies.'_ The Night Mother went silent, and I repeated the words:  _Darkness rises when silence dies._   _You are meant to be, Listener Alysa…_ she whispered, her voice fading to the Void.

I gasped as I fell out of the coffin into Cicero's arms, which quickly dropped me.

I had never been afraid before, but this jester's fury was something to behold. I shifted, desperately wanting to scoot away but unwilling to show just how scared I was. " _What_? What treachery! Defiler! Debaser and defiler! You have violated the sanctity of the Night Mother's tomb! Explain yourself! Speak, worm!"  
His words cut and burned. "Wait, Cicero, I can explain–"  
"Cicero _trusted_ you–"  
"Cicero, please–"  
"Called you _friend_ –" he started growling, pulling a knife.  
"She spoke to me! The Night Mother spoke to me!" I exclaimed, finally scooting away from him.  
Cicero paused his advance. "She… spoke to you?" he looked hopeful for a moment. "More _treachery_! More _trickery_ and _deceit_! You _lie_! The Night Mother speaks only to the Listener! And there  _is. No. LISTENER_!"  
Cicero continued.

My back hit a table's leg before I finally remembered the words and screamed them out.

"'Darkness rises when silence dies!'"

The entire Sanctuary seemed to go silent. Cicero froze, his expression turning from outrage to awe. "She... she said that? She said those words... to you? 'Darkness rises when silence dies'?" I nodded quickly. "But those are  _The Words_. The  _Binding Words_. Written in the Keeping Tomes. The signal so I would know. Mother's only way of talking to sweet Cicero…."

I was suddenly hoisted up and into Cicero's arms as he spun me round and round in a maniacal dance. "Oh! Forgive Cicero! Forgive, please, Alysa! He was wrong to attack you! Then... it is true! She is back! Our Lady is back! She has chosen a Listener! She has chosen you! Ha ha ha! All hail the _LISTENER_!" he finished, shrieking.

I wasn't sure if I should laugh, cry or scream in terror. So I opted for a nervous laugh. Right then Astrid burst into the room, her dwarven sword in hand as she wrenched me free from Cicero. "By Sithis, this ends  _now!_  Back away, fool! Whatever you've been planning is over!" She held her sword out in Cicero's direction, pulling me behind her, quizzing me briefly. "Are you all right? I heard the commotion. Who was Cicero talking to? Where's the accomplice? Reveal yourself,  _traitor!_ "  
"I spoke only to the Night Mother! I spoke to the Night Mother, but she didn't speak to me. Oh no. She spoke only to her! To the Listener! To  _ALYSA_!" Cicero pointed at me, dancing on the spot and jumping up and down.

Astrid stepped out to look at both of us.

I let my face go blank as I tried to process everything. " _What_?" Astrid looked between me and Cicero. "The _Listener_? What are you going on about? What is this lunacy?"  
"Lunacy?! It's true, it's true! The Night Mother has spoken! The silence has been broken! The Listener has been chosen!" Cicero started dancing and cavorting where he was, and Astrid pulled me aside.

"Then what in Sithis' name is going on? Cicero spoke to the Night Mother, but  _she_  spoke to  _you?_  Is this just more of the fool's rambling?" she asked quietly.  
"She spoke to me. He really was just talking to the Night Mother," I glanced at Cicero and the coffin behind Astrid. I couldn't help myself: I smirked. "Apparently I am the Listener."  
"What? So Cicero wasn't talking to anyone else. Just… the Night Mother's body? And the Night Mother, who, according to everything we know, will only speak to the person chosen as Listener… just spoke.  _Right now_ … to  _you?_ "  
I looked back at Astrid, and nodded. "She told me to find an ‘Amaund Motierre’ in Volunruud."  
"Amaund Motierre? I have no idea who that is. But Volunruud... that I have heard of. And I know where it is."  
"So am I going?" I asked, mostly out of years of respecting Astrid. She looked very…  _pensive_.  
"Hmm? No.  _No_! Listen, I don't know what's going on here, but  _you_  take your orders from  _me_. Are we clear on that? The Night Mother may have spoken to you, but  _I_  am still the leader of this Family. I will  _not_  have my authority so easily dismissed. I… I need time to think about all this. Go see Nazir – do some work for him. I'll find you when I'm ready to discuss the matter further," she waved her hands at me dismissively, but she was the one who walked out of the room.

I shook my head.  _She's giving up a chance to make us respected,_  feared,  _again,_  I thought. I didn't know where Volunruud was, but I could find out while I was out doing minor contracts.

In my musings I hadn't noticed Cicero was standing almost nose-to-nose with me. I blinked a few times when I saw him so close, with that ridiculously broad and happy grin plastered all over his face. "You are the Listener! You are the Listener!" he sang softly, watching my reaction. He still seemed sorry about his attack earlier.  
I smiled gently. "Yes. I am the Listener, Cicero. And I forgive you."  
Cicero beamed at me, straightening and looking sheepish. I wondered what he was thinking.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Cicero was looking at his Listener! She was his Listener! Oh, sweet Mother, Cicero has served you well! To choose one so bold, so deadly, so cunning and so beautiful as Listener…. Now Cicero must just deal with the  _harlot_. She will pay for defying the Listener! Oh, Alysa is so pretty when she smiles like that…. Cicero feels his heart pounding. What will she do if…? Cicero steps closer.  _Such a little Nord, so fine…_. She looks a little surprised. Cicero doesn't want to send her away, never. He wonders if he should touch her face, if she is as soft as he thinks she will be.

"Alysa!" Babette called, and his Listener stepped backwards, away.  _Damn the un-child!_  Cicero's fingers curled into a fist, his shoulders slumped. "Coming, Babette!" the Listener called back. "I'll see you around, Cicero."  
"Of course, Listener," Cicero dips his head.  
Alysa scowled. "I'm still Alysa, Cicero. You really don't have to call me the Listener."  
"Cicero knows. But the un-child is calling, sweet Sister, dear Listener."

Alysa pursed her lips. She didn't  _want_  to leave! She wants to stay here, Cicero realizes! But she nods, backs out, and looks over her shoulder twice before she disappeared. "Dammit, Babette! I said I was  _coming_!"

Cicero laughed. Still the same Alysa, but now  _Listener_  Alysa.


	7. Life Goes On (I'll be Right Here Waiting for You)

**Chapter 7: Life Goes On (I'll be Right Here Waiting for You)**

Babette had called because she had been so eager for me to try out a new poison she had made. She babbled on excitedly about its effects, a fairly slow-working poison, better to use in food, but one with 'marvellous effects', to quote Babette. It slowly did ice damage while simultaneously driving the victim crazy – something about it being a strong hallucinogenic with Skooma and Moon Sugar being the main ingredients for that particular effect.

I looked skeptically at the bottle, and asked her if she had any antidotes for even half the poisons she made.

Babette had clucked her tongue at me, and impatiently explained that she didn't need to have any because she knew how to cure it. Then she had given me a menacingly toothy grin and told me she had shared all of her important information with me. I had shaken my head and wandered through the Sanctuary looking for Nazir. He gave me three contracts scattered throughout the breadth of Skyrim.

I would be gone for almost five months, even with a horse. I gathered as much info about my targets as I could. I ate with the remaining members, and wished Cicero would join us. I didn't say anything, though, and I suspected Babette knew what I was thinking when I looked at her and she smiled gently at me.

Nazir had made a sharp remark about Babette getting soft, and vampire and Redguard debated and shared insults until they both burst out laughing. I drowned myself in my sixth or eighth tankard of mead, and slammed it down on the table reasonably good-naturedly. Nazir and Babette both stared at me for a moment. "Try not to be too loud," I said, my way of saying good night, then stood and trudged up the stairs a little unsurely before I collapsed onto my bed.

 _Thank the Night Mother,_  I thought, as Babette and Nazir agreed to sit somewhere else.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I rubbed my temples in the washroom the next morning. Why did I  _always_  drink too much mead? If an enemy wanted to best me, they only needed to get me drunk and wait for morning. I was almost useless past the throbbing. I dunked my head in the cool water, and blew bubbles after a while. When I came up again, I felt a little better.

I wrung the water out of my hair a final time as I padded barefoot down the passage, my boots tucked under my arm, armor already donned. I found a sleepy Babette and asked her to plait my hair quickly. She grumbled about 'daywalkers' but plaited my hair in record time while I pulled on my boots. I could only assume she had used her vampire powers, and was already making herself comfortable on the stone slab. I frowned at her, but smiled after a few seconds: only a vampire could be like this.

I returned to my bed, strapping on my daggers, quiver and slung my bow on my back. I kept my hood and cowl down for now. There was one person I  _had_  to say goodbye to, one person I wanted to see before I left. I let my feet find the path, and knocked softly on the door. "Cicero?" I called, stepping in.

The Night Mother's coffin was closed again, but I somehow doubted it was locked. "Cicero?" I called again, coming deeper into the room.

For the first time I noticed a narrow corridor to another room.

"Listener?" Cicero answered, appearing from around a corner. He was wiping his hands on a cloth. He grinned brightly, bouncing on the spot. "Cicero was making breakfast! Would the great and honorable Listener join humble Cicero?"  
I half-grinned, unable to really look him in the eye. I was undecided. I needed to get on the road as soon as possible. "I wish I could, but –"  
"Cicero understands the Listener has important duties to –"  
"Keeper!" I interrupted. Cicero blinked. "Enough. Listen," I stopped when Cicero sniggered. I joined in briefly, realizing where he found irony. "I'm leaving today, on a few contracts and I won't be back for… well, a while." I felt sheepish, having blurted it all out at once. Cicero had put the cloth down on a table, nodding vigorously all the while.  _It's a wonder that jester's cap doesn't fall off,_  I thought absently.

Cicero was swaying closer, arms behind his back with his legs stock-straight. "Humble Cicero wishes the Listener luck and happy kills, though he knows your skill is… da-da dada! Unmatched!"  
I rolled my eyes, smirking to the side. I wished for a moment I was a little taller to not look up at him so much. "Come with me," I suddenly blurted, clapping a fist to my mouth as soon as I said it.  
Cicero gave me a strange look. Might as well continue, since I had started it. "The closest is less than a week's ride away, and you could take my horse back to the Sanctuary…" I stopped, turning my gaze to the floor, and felt like an idiot.

Had I not promised myself years ago that I would do my best to  _not_  care about someone else?

"Cicero would  _love_  to accompany the Listener! Keeper and Listener, on the hunt!" he looked wistful. I almost thought he'd say yes. "But Cicero is Keeper, and he must keep the Night Mother," he cautiously laid his hands lightly on my arms, something I usually wouldn't allow, something he had noticed even in the short time we had known each other. "But Cicero will be right here, waiting for his honored Listener to return. Cicero swears it on his life to the Listener! Oh, he hopes to die a horrid death if he fails you, Listener Alysa! Just promise humble Keeper Cicero one thing." He held up one finger, brows raised for effect.

I nodded, my face smooth despite my desire to roll my eyes and smirk. "Of course."  
"Come back." Cicero grinned, his steel-grey eyes gleaming as he let me go and backed away, then bowed. "Hunt well, O mighty Listener! May the Night Mother watch over you!"  
Warmth blossomed in my heart. "And over you, Keeper," I backed away as he had, unwilling to look away just yet. Cicero just stood there, head cocked to one side with his hands once again folded behind his back when I finally turned.

It was going to be a long time on the road.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Cicero spent the next week thinking about Listener Alysa, and how she had asked Cicero to hunt with her!

Oh, what a surprise it had been! Cicero wanted to go – he really did – but Mother was still his responsibility.

The Keeper kept – and Cicero was Keeper. He thinks Alysa feels the same about him, the way she had kept staring at him…. "Oh, sweet Mother, watch over your Listener and bring her back to the Sanctuary – she is the One, after all, and it would – and I say this humbly – please your dear Cicero, too, Mother." Cicero steps back, carefully looking for a spot he missed. "All finished, Mother. All clean!" Cicero clapped, giggling and dancing for his Unholy Matron.

Ah, for the Old Ways he lived!

 

* * * * * * *

 

Little less than a week later I arrived at Half-Moon Mill, around late afternoon. I greeted the man I presumed was Hern, and after introductions and confirmation he  _was_  Hern, I asked for a place to stay for the night. He had pursed his lips, but finally agreed. His wife came out of the house shortly after, watching me suspiciously the whole time the vampire helped me settle my steed. I breathed deep, concentrating on what I was doing. Babette made wonderful practice to keep my heart beat evenly, and she had pointed out every minor change in my initial training sessions with her.

I couldn't afford to give away my knowledge of his true nature.

These vampires were obviously well-fed to walk in the daylight for even short periods of time, and I wondered how exactly they managed it, considering even one vampire could struggle to keep itself out of trouble. I would have to wait for late night, early morning: vampires trying to live like people would sleep around then, I presumed.  _What a delicious kill_ , I thought, half-smiling to myself.  
An awkward dinner followed, and I could tell the vampires were having a hard time forcing themselves to eat the food. I pretended not to notice, instead showering the couple with compliments about Hert's wonderful cooking skills – she really was quite good, despite being a vampire. She was still wary of me, so flattery wasn't going to get me through it, but it seemed to have softened Hern to me.

They set up a spot for me on a couch, and both got into their bed a short while later. I deepened my breathing, focusing on slowing myself down as Babette had taught me. I probably wouldn't sleep much tonight, but I planned on a late night or early morning kill. Both, quickly and quietly. I didn't need a she-vampire chasing me across Skyrim. I dozed for several hours, then I decided it was time. I slowly sat up, swinging my legs over the side and held my head in my hands as if I was just waking up, in case one or both were watching me.  
I listened to their breathing, but it was gentle, deep. Babette could do that so easily it was eerie… I was glad there was a vampire in my Family. I looked over my shoulder.  
They held each other in their sleep.  _And so shall they in death and the Void,_  I thought. I rose silently, fluidly drawing my daggers as I stalked closer. Whichever one I killed first would alert the other… and coincidentally Hern was closest.  _Sithis take you._

The second I cut his throat Hert was awake, and before she could latch her claws around my neck she too found her throat cut, a dagger in her heart, too.

I was covered in blood.

The sheets and bed were soaked, spilling onto the floor and pooling. They had more than enough victims to go out during the day. I was glad I hadn't worn my armor, though the plain tunic was beyond ruined.  
I went outside to the trough with soap and my armor and stripped down, quickly scrubbing the blood off of me and dressed, shivering once in the cold. "I'm glad I'm a Nord," I muttered, and gathered my things from inside.

It would be dawn soon, and I might as well get going: Morthal was a good ride away, and I wasn't planning on cutting across the country just yet.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Those rumors I heard about the Dragonborn being a Bosmer woman… they were lies. I saw the real Dragonborn in action two weeks after Half-Moon Mill, half-an-hour's ride south of Rorikstead.  _He_  was an Altmer, and a skilled Destruction mage, too. Festus might have liked him.

I had been just off the road to avoid Penitus Oculatus agents. They were a little more active on the roads for some reason, and they knew what to look for where the Dark Brotherhood was concerned… I'd have to be more careful. I had been minding my own business when I heard a roar; the kind I could only imagine was that of a dragon. I maneuvered my steed a little further out of the brush I was in to see the beast circling in the sky, shouting faint words followed by fire coming from its mouth. I'd never seen anything so big before….

The Altmer was fearless in his attack – Destruction magic flying from his hands and meeting the dragon squarely while a Nord companion fired her bow at the creature, guards doing the same. At least I had the sense to dump my pack in the brush before dismounting to help: I might not have been a true fighter, but I'll be damned if I let a dragon go by unconquered!

My horse charged wildly towards the dragon, and it swooped down. I threw myself down, rolling out of the way as my horse was lifted, screaming as talons gouged its sides. I gasped: the dragon tore my horse apart and set it alight. I was vaguely aware that my horse wasn't quite as well looked-after as I had promised it to be.  
The dragon was coming back, and crash landed; the earth shaking as the bloodied creature ploughed to a halt. Then the Altmer shouted foreign words, three of them, by the sound of it, and the dragon roared at him. I stood, drawing my daggers and running for the head. The Altmer was too far for the guards or his companion to save him.

I was the closest.

He was flung to the ground, the dragon's massive green head hovering over the elf on the ground, ready to kill. I jumped, stabbing both daggers into the beast's neck, just as its mouth opened and the Altmer shouted, "Fus, _ro DAH!_ "

The dragon's head snapped back, and I felt a faint force blow me backwards, wrenching my daggers free.

The dragon then started burning.

I scrambled away, torn between watching it burn and watching something flow into the Dragonborn, lying on the ground in his steel armor, his back arched and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. It continued until the dragon was burned to the bone, a few larger scales on the ground.

The Nord woman jogged closer as the Dragonborn pushed himself to his elbows. "Tar! Are you alright?" she called.  
_Tar? Maybe a nickname?_  I thought, scrunching my face beneath my hood and cowl. I looked over to where my horse lay in burnt and bloody pieces.  _Damn_.  
"Yes, Uthgerd, I'm alright," the Dragonborn replied, standing and dusting himself. I hadn't yet seen his face properly. When he turned to me, I was glad for my cowl because my jaw slacked. He had at least five long scars over his face: three diagonally to his left down over his lips, and another one from under his right eye over his nose, and a short one just above that one on his left cheek. I had never seen anything quite like it before; that he had survived was a miracle. "Thank you, Stranger. That was perfect timing you had, and skill. I'm sorry about your horse," he looked over to the parts.  
I shook my head to clear my thoughts. "It's not your fault:  _you_  didn't call the dragon."  
The elf grinned a little wryly. "Dragons find me wherever I go: it's part of being Dovahkiin. Dragonborn," he added when I drew my brows together. I nodded slowly, my eyes still on his scars. He had a tattoo or paint marking over his left eye in red, too, but I barely noticed it past the scars and long autumn-colored hair. He touched his mouth, covering the scars for long enough to allow me to make eye contact with him. "I'll be back," I said, wiping my blades on the grass and quickly running to get my pack.

Might as well spend the night in Rorikstead, and start cutting across the country in the morning. Sithis knew it would take even longer to finish my contracts now.  _Night Mother, if it's in your power, a blessing from you to speed my journey would be welcome, and very appreciated,_  I thought, shouldering my pack after I shifted my bow and quiver to my hip.

I walked back to find the elf talking heartily with the guards, lifting their spirits as he explained his ability to Shout. I suddenly realized the words he and the dragon had spoken were some of the Words of Power everyone seemed to be experts on lately. When he saw me come closer he dipped his head, his golden eyes shining. "I'm Tawarthion," he said, holding out a gloved hand.  
I took it, nodding. "Alysa Ice-Wrath," I replied coolly.  
The Nord woman just looked me over. "My companion is Uthgerd the Unbroken," Tawarthion said. Uthgerd nodded curtly, extending a hand.  
"Good to meet you," I said. Curiosity got the better of me, so asked about the Bosmer Dragonborn as we walked to Rorikstead, Tawarthion and Uthgerd leading their horses. The Altmer had laughed, saying he'd heard about her but that was about as far as it had gone. She wasn't really Dragonborn, as far as he knew.

He was amiable, really. But I somehow suspected he was just as capable of cruel anger as well. His bearing was just that of a kind of assured power, like that of one who had seen much and rarely – if ever – lost a fight.

We checked into the inn at Rorikstead, and I changed out of my armor after I had been given warm clothes to wear. Apparently we were heroes for defeating the dragon. An interesting sensation, to be honest. Tawarthion had invited me to dine with him and his companion, and I was pleasantly surprised that he wasn't as aristocratic as I had thought he was. He was still an elf, and an Altmer on top of it. I found him in mage's robes when I left my room, tucked away in a dark corner of the inn, and Uthgerd was nowhere to be seen. I padded over after I ordered a tankard of mead, and we spoke about dragons for a long time before the conversation turned to magic. "I heard Destruction trainers are stingy with teaching, and skeptical of different ways of doing things. They're set in their ways of doing it," I touched my chin instinctively, but there wasn't a cowl to pull up.  
Tawarthion frowned. "I've never experienced that before. Who told you that?"  
I thought of how Festus had described himself. "A rather grumpy but very skilled uncle of mine," I replied, smirking into my tankard. I usually ordered the cheapest mead to save on travel costs and my health, but I had been indulged this time. Uthgerd sat down on the other side of the elf, sighing happily as she sipped what smelled like ale. Tawarthion was swirling a wine in a goblet.  _Elves and their wines…_  I thought.

Tawarthion nodded thoughtfully about my comment. "How did you get those scars?" I asked, ignoring the Nord woman's glare and the mage's mildly surprised look.  
"It's a long story, and not a particularly pleasant one."  
_Fine, then,_  I thought when I realized that was all he was going to say. I was about to ask another question when a courier came in, calling for attention. "Is a Tawarthion here?" he asked, holding a letter and looking around. The Altmer stood and walked closer. "Yes, that's me," he said, taking the letter and handing the courier a few coins.  
"Lisette sends her regards," the courier finished, then left. When the elf turned, his face was bright and beaming as he stared at the handwriting on the front and back.  
"Oh, for all your years you're a love-struck  _fool_ , Tar," Uthgerd play-chided, grinning as she chuckled.  
Tar rolled his eyes when he joined us again. "I'm really not that old, but love-struck I am."  
"How old is 'not that old'?" I asked, raising a brow.  
"Well, I'm two-hundred and fifty-three in Sun's Dusk, which is…" he thought for a moment.  
"Next month," Uthgerd added. I nodded: the year was going quickly.  
"No, not  _that_  old at all," I drawled sarcastically. Tar sniggered, staring at the envelope. The door opened, and Uthgerd narrowed her eyes at whomever had walked in. I turned my head slightly, then stiffened. Two Penitus Oculatus agents had just walked in, boisterous and looking to get drunk. If they thought to search belongings they would find me. The worst was that I didn't even have my daggers in easy-to-reach places – one was strapped to my boot, the other in my pack, with the rest of my daedric things.  
"Not a fan of the Empire either," Tar said softly, a hard note in his voice when he looked up.  
"Not in the slightest," I replied, divining the end of my mead in the depths of the tankard.  
"I'll drink to that," Uthgerd said. We raised our tankards and goblet in silent toast, and I wondered why an Altmer would dislike the Empire. After all, they  _owned_  it by now. So I asked.

Tar sighed, leaning back in his chair as he turned the envelope in his long fingers, stretching his long legs under the table. Cicero might have been tall next to me, but this mage had me almost dwarfed. "I used to stand with the Empire, and especially the Thalmor, before I learned about the wars and skirmishes and raids on defenceless villages and towns, and unnecessary killings in the name of pleasure. By the Nine, I even defended the Thalmor's honor until a few years ago; they could put an end to all violence – or at least that's what they told us on Summerset Isle," he noticed my eyes narrowing. "My kind has suffered as much at the hands of Men, as Men have suffered at the hands of Mer, Alysa. I digress," he paused, his golden eyes meeting mine again. It was eerie, really; the color. Unnatural. "The Thalmor waged the Great War after taking Valenwood, and it finally ended with the White-Gold Concordat, as you know. Things went well and I was proud to be Altmer, proud to be of a nation that could lay claim to all of Tamriel as easily as we had. But then I heard whispers in the dark from what my kin perceive to be lesser Mer, from Men and Beast races as well. Talos was banned, and at first it wasn't really enforced. But then it changed: people's homes were raided, shrines destroyed and families separated. Then I heard about people who disappeared in the night, never to be seen or heard from again. I knew only an Altmer mage could steal someone like that, and Thalmor agents confirmed it in their dealings with others. The more I heard, the more was revealed to me, and especially so since I left for Skyrim. I decided it was enough," he looked out over the inn. "Not that I fully agree with Ulfric Stormcloak either, mind you. Skyrim doesn't just belong to the Nords: she belongs to all who call her home. But if he can win the war, and drive out the Thalmor, it can become a very real possibility to end the Aldemeri Dominion, to end the fear all people feel," he finished, straightening and stretching.  
I nodded: he sounded like an idealistic poet. "Well-said. If ever you find yourself looking for another occupation, I think being a bard would suit you well," I finished my mead.  
Tawarthion laughed, his eyes crinkling. "Well, that's actually why I came to Skyrim in the first place," his smile softened, and he looked thoroughly love-struck.  _Do I look like that when I think of Cicero?_  I wondered.

"Oh, gods!" Uthgerd teased. "I need more ale. Mead for you, Alysa?" I nodded as she stood. "Wine, Tar?" he waved a hand as he smiled; I could have sworn his cheeks colored slightly. "I've heard this story one too many times. You're on your own with this one, girl!" Uthgerd laughed, the soft lines in her face giving away her true age.  
Tawarthion chuckled. "Aye, that she has," he shifted in his seat, watching the Nord woman walk away.  
"Lisette?" I questioned. He knew I was asking about the story's topic.  
He nodded. "I heard about the Bard's College in Solitude, and thought I'd like to study there…. I thought I might make a name for myself, even if I only wrote the verses. I was staying at the Winking Skeever when I met Lisette."  
I watched him as he fiddled with the letter again, his gaze soft and kind. Very different to when he had been fighting the dragon.

"Hey! Watch yourself, boy!" Uthgerd snapped from the bar. Tar's expression hardened immediately, sitting straighter. One of the Penitus Oculatus agents had grabbed her arm for questioning. She wrenched herself free, and backed away, turning once she was sure she was out of their reach. I scowled. Damn those bastards! "Have any of you seen anyone traveling in red and black armor, a cowl and hood covering this person's face? Or perhaps red and black robes with a black hand print on the front?" one called.

I took a deep breath. I didn't stand too much of a chance if they turned me in.

"No," Tar said, standing and taking a few steps forwards. The elf was tall; tall was intimidating, even without the armor. "There has been no-one passing through Rorikstead with that description."  
He was defending me? Interesting. The agent scowled at the Altmer, slowly pacing closer. "You sure about that,  _Elf?_ "  
Tar drew himself a little taller, a few steps closer. I could have sworn the two were now nose-to-nose. " _Very_  sure," Tawarthion said, his voice low. He murmured something to the agent, who paled and looked fearfully at him. "I think you and your companion had best be on your way," he continued a little louder, unmoving.  
The agent scowled, backing away. "We'd best get moving. Our targets don't rest," he finally said, backing away and the other man looked confused but joined his companion as they hurriedly left.

The entire inn stared at me: they had all seen my armor. Tar glanced around once, then returned. The noise continued shortly after. "Whatever you've done, Alysa, you can't stay more than one night. Which way were you headed?" he asked.  
_Might as well be halfway honest,_  "Morthal, I have a contract to fulfil after I meet with my client," I half-lied. I wasn't meeting a client, but I sure was fulfilling a contract. Tar frowned, displeased by my vague and yet apt answer. "By the way, do you know where Volunruud is?" I asked.  
"I do," Uthgerd said, frowning herself. "Do you have a map?"  
I nodded, pulling it out from a small bag I kept with me. She marked the ruin.  _Might as well find out: Astrid will_ have _to send me sometime and I might as well have the information already._  "What kind of contracts do you fulfil?" the Dragonborn asked me.  
"I get things done for people, something like a mercenary. If they want something badly enough, they will find me and I will do what needs to be done - whatever it is. It pays well and I'm happy doing what I love," I answered. It wasn't  _un_ true. Uthgerd pursed her lips and Tawarthion sighed after they exchanged a glance. "Then travel with us; we're headed to Dawnstar, anyway, and your horse is unfortunately dead. With us, you could travel faster."  
I scowled at him. A trusting assassin was a dead assassin, and he had nothing to gain and everything to lose if he took me with him. "What's in it for you?" I asked.  
"Nothing. But I owe you a horse and a favor for your assistance in helping to kill the dragon today. We leave at first light, if you're interested."  
I took that as my cue to leave. "Hm. I'll think about it," I conceded.

Bed was calling, then. Damn the Empire and those Penitus Oculatus agents….

And dragons.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Cicero kept to himself while the Listener was gone. He giggled. Cicero  _kept_  to himself! Oh, a good one, a good one! Cicero sniggered. "Tra-la-la, tra-la-lee," he sang, leaving his chambers for the company of someone else. I  _am_  human, after all. What he heard next, Cicero didn't like in the slightest. No, sweet Mother, not at all.

"That  _fool_  can't barge in and take command as he pleases with his  _pet corpse_  while he toys with one of my best assassins!" Astrid fumed.

Oh, unholy Night Mother, stay humble Cicero's blade. He walked into the main room. That pretender was talking to Veezara, Alysa's green friend. "And then he says she's the  _Listener_? It's preposterous! Unthinkable! I swear he's  _twisting_  her! He'll be the reason I lose Alysa!"

"Cicero thinks you should be quiet now," Cicero said, hand on his long ebony dagger.

Astrid the Pretender pulled a face at Cicero. Horrid woman… Cicero should kill her… but then he would fail his Listener! "Listen, fool: stay  _away_  from Alysa, and don't you  _dare_  start with that 'Listener' crap again –"  
"You dare  _defy_  the Old Ways  _again_? You  _dare_  deny the Listener the  _respect_  she  _deserves_? You  _dare DEFY THE NIGHT MOTHER AND HER WISHES?! YOU DARE BLASPHEME?!_ " Cicero shouted. Oh, I am furious: this Keeper's blood boils for all the blasphemies the pretender-harlot speaks! Cicero should cut her down, make her beg and bleed….

"You stay away from my  _wife_ , little man!"  
"Astrid's lapdog has  _no_  say here," Cicero hissed. "You defy the Night Mother's wishes for a Listener  _and, AND_  the contract she gives our Listener?"  
"Astrid, Cicero, Arnbjorn, wait, we –" the Argonian starts.

"Listener? Contract? Astrid, what is all this?" Festus asks, and Cicero suddenly feels calmer. He knows it's magic, but he still wants Astrid dead.  
"Festus. According to the jester… Alysa is the…  _Listener_ ," the pretender drawled, spat out. Oh, Cicero would carve her up so well… she'd scream for days.  
"Alysa is the Listener? What does  _she_  say about it?" Festus continues. Cicero hopes he'll talk sense into the pretender-harlot. " _Astrid!_ "  
"She says she is, and that there's a client inside Volunruud," she admitted finally.

Festus sighed angrily, but was still calm. Arnbjorn growled and Festus cast a spell on him. "Be quiet you loud wolf! Have you so little faith in what Alysa says, Astrid? She's never lied to you before, what does she gain from it now? If the Night Mother spoke, then you're wasting time debating the matter! When did this happen, and where is Alysa?"  
"The Listener is out on  _little_  contracts," Cicero hissed softly, glaring at Astrid. Oh, he knew just where to cut and stab to make her scream and cry and beg and bleed… and Cicero would  _love_  every moment, every single drop of blood would be exquisite… just perfect to appease the Night Mother for the blasphemy!  
"Alysa's gone?" Festus asked. Cicero nods, not glancing away from the pretender. "When did she leave? When will she be back?"  
The woman sighed angrily, pouting. Cicero would cut her lips off first. "The Night Mother spoke almost one-and-a-half months ago, and Alysa left about then, too. If she follows her usual travel mannerisms, she should be nearing or in Morthal. Then she'll pass Volunruud and ride for Windhelm to Anga's Mill."  
"Damn you, Astrid! She has proven herself over and over again! I don't suppose you told her  _where_  Volunruud is, and by the time she gets back five months will have passed!  _Five months!_ " Festus barely spoke louder than normal, but even Cicero felt a little intimidated. "I hope that girl uses her head the way she usually does and finds out where that barrow is and talks to the client! When she returns, you damn well send her on  _every_  contract the Night Mother gives her, and the one that client gives her! Now, you've upset a very dangerous mage, and I'm tired and hungry – and Cicero, you're coming with me. Help an old man get down the stairs to the dining room."

Festus walked past Astrid, a little stooped and Cicero followed, glaring at the pretender a little while longer. "If looks could kill, she'd have been dead a hundred times over, Keeper," Festus said quietly. Cicero nodded. He's still too angry for words. Even the un-child looked concerned.

Oh well.

Cicero would have to wait before he killed Astrid.

But kill her he would: and he would  _enjoy_  it.


	8. The Silence has been Broken

**Chapter 8: The Silence has been Broken**

I parted ways with the Dragonborn and his companion in Morthal – I had lost them almost immediately after we arrived in the little town, both because of the fog and we went separate ways. Tawarthion apparently had business with the jarl in this miserably marshy place. Even the people were as unwelcoming as the environment, skeptical of strangers.

I walked into the only inn in town – Moorside Inn – and immediately regretted it. Lurbuk was doing something that was supposed to be singing and playing the lute. I almost ran outside to stop myself from charging him straight away.  _Night Mother give me strength. And I appreciate the help this past week_ , I thought, remembering how quickly Tawarthion and Uthgerd had traveled. If I hadn't been ready to flee at any second as a general rule, I would never have been able to keep up with them. Not that I ever traveled particularly quickly, either.

I wrinkled my nose, walking to the apologetic-looking innkeep. "Sorry 'bout 'im. We don't usually got customers, so 'e's usually no trouble," she explained quietly, glancing at the Orc to make sure he wasn't listening to us.  
I nodded. "It's alright. A room for the night," I flared my nostrils behind my cowl as the Orc reached a high note and went false, his voice breaking. I knew I didn't have a perfect voice, but even  _I_  could sing better than him. By Sithis, Cicero could… I smiled to myself, my mood softening despite the damnable Orc that went on.

And on.

And on.

I put my things in my room, and pulled my cowl down, leaving the hood on. It was cold, despite my natural resistance to it. I sat down at one of the long tables and ordered hot food and a warm drink. A few townsfolk entered a while later, and Lurbuk started his performance in full swing. Tar and Uthgerd walked in a few hours later. I watched them cross the room to the counter. "Bard!" I called as soon as there was something akin to silence.  
Lurbuk looked at me excitedly. "Yes, dear lady?"  
I smirked. I was sure Tar saw it too. "Sing me a song. Sing me a song of fear, and death!"  
The common room went still, and I savored the power it gave me. I struggled not to snigger out loud and play with my blades…. Sithis help the poor souls who got in my way. Now was the time to be this bard's friend. He grinned, thinking. Tar leaned against the counter – his armor clinched softly against it. "Hm…" Lurbuk stroked his chin. "How about this?  _Shadows creep, and... and phantoms leap! A man got... he got scared. And the demons dared! To um... visit upon him all which they feared_!" he finished, false and terrible. But I grinned and applauded anyway. I could tell Tar was beginning to realize I had an agenda here, just by the way he moved. Hopefully he didn't call me out. "Join me, Bard!" I called, waving him over and ordering the best mead for him. I cringed on the inside at the knowledge that I wasn't getting any.  
"Brilliant, I know. It's a gift," Lurbuk boasted, coming over and sitting with me. Maybe he'd be tolerable if he was drunk…?  
"A gift indeed!" I toasted, and the common room resumed its usual noise – perhaps a little louder and more cheerful now that the bard was occupied.

Oh, the poor thing wouldn't know what hit him.

I bought drink after drink until he was so drunk he didn't know his own name. Babette's new poison was a tiny vial that I slipped it into his drink.  _Let the experiments begin,_  I thought, playing the drunken fool and toasting loudly with him, avoiding my drink when some of his splashed into mine. Babette hadn't been very specific with doses and I liked being alive, really. Who else was going to kill all the people in the world, if not me? Tawarthion was warily watching me from a corner, by now. I think he saw I wasn't drunk when we made eye contact. I almost  _never_  indulged on a job, whether I was outgoing or returning home. It was simply too dangerous.

The effects of Babette's new poison were…  _astounding_. And maybe a little too fast. Lurbuk started singing and howling in earnest a few seconds after he got halfway through his special mead, and by the end of it he was acting like a person possessed. I was disturbed, really. But I kept watching, kept playing with as his drunken friend. Babette liked details on her poisons. I was still mildly amused by his barbaric dancing, clapping along from my perch on a bench when he became obsessed with something on the other side of the inn.

He went quiet.

I tensed.

And then he walked straight into the fire, falling face-first into it and lay there, not even making a sound while he burned. Initially everyone was so shocked no-one moved. Mind you, I was thoroughly amused by a hallucinating bard who just killed himself, and I was having a hard time keeping my laughter to myself.

So I screamed instead. Well, it sounded more like a Hagraven shrieking and cackling at the same time. That's when everyone realized he was dying, and the stink of burning flesh quickly filled the room. I shrieked at least twice more to relieve my need to laugh, then broke down and buried my face in my hands as I laughed.  _Oh, Babette, your poisons are wondrous!_

I think most people thought I was crying and drunk, and someone put an arm around my shoulders and walked me to my room. I was sure Tawarthion was trying to put the fire out with magic. I curled up in my bed, daggers under my pillow with a grin on my face. I would  _definitely_  use that poison again.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Cicero and Astrid were enemies from that day on: we watched each other, made sure our backs were to a wall whenever the other passed. Cicero locked Mother's chambers and coffin whenever he went out to speak with Festus, or Babette or Veezara, and sometimes Gabriella. Cicero didn't know what to think of her: Dark Elves never made sense to Cicero, but then, little ever did! Like thieves… they take from the person  _before_  they're dead! They steal from the  _living_! And they say  _Cicero_  is crazy… hehehe. No, Cicero isn't crazy. He's MAD! Maddening! Ha ha ha!

Ah, Cicero misses the Listener. It's been almost five months now, since she became Listener and Astrid denied Alysa her right to speak with a client. Cicero wanders back to his chambers – only there am I really safe from the pretender and her lapdog. He locks himself in every time, and now he is going to clean and oil Mother.  
"Dum-da-dum, dee-duh-dee," Cicero sang, collecting his oils and carefully working on keeping Mother perfect for the Listener. He took his time today, not that Cicero  _ever_  rushed. He was just extra careful to get all those hard-to-reach places, cleaning and oiling, and humming and singing and dancing as Cicero went. He hummed and sang for Mother all the while of all sorts of things: sweet Mother who blessed dear Cicero with a Listener, and who kept him patient for this Listener.

Cicero wondered if she would find Volunruud.

"If Cicero wasn't Keeper, sweet Night Mother, Cicero thinks he would have tried to find Alysa and show her where Volunruud is. He is sure he knows where it is. But oh, sweet Mother of all assassins in our Family! Keep her safe – be your Listener's Keeper as much as humble Cicero is  _your_  Keeper. And Keeper Cicero will stay, until he dies in service to you, Mother," Cicero paused to concentrate on cleaning and oiling. "Cicero would gladly die for you, Mother. And Alysa, the Listener. Yes, Cicero would die for both of you…."

Cicero sighs happily a few hours later. Or maybe many hours later? Cicero never knows, because Cicero never knows what the time is! Cicero smiled sadly. "It's been lonely without  _her_ , Mother! Cicero doesn't know what to do… so Cicero must wait. And eat! Cicero must eat to stay alive. Sweet Night Mother, Unholy Matron, humble Cicero will return to keep you company!" Cicero claps, then dances once for Mother before locking her in her coffin. Cicero wonders how Alysa managed to pick the lock – Cicero had tried a few times but he had broken his pick so many times he gave up. "I suppose you were helping her, Mother. You knew from the beginning she was the  _One_ ," Cicero decided, then left down his passage to the little dining room Cicero had for himself, and made dinner – or lunch, or something before or after or in between the two, Cicero wasn't sure. It was always difficult to tell time inside the Sanctuary. Very difficult, no matter the light that streamed in from cracks and crevices in the walls and roof.

Oh well, I wonder if I have any sweet rolls, or carrots….

 

* * * * * * *

 

I stood at the door to Volunruud. Taking a deep breath, I pushed the heavy doors open and stepped inside to a narrow passage. A worn journal and a skeleton lay near the door. I pulled my cowl over my mouth and nose, stepping over the bones and headed down the stairs. There were two passages leading on: one almost back the way I came and one ahead. I heard voices from the passage closest to me.

So I followed them.

I walked into a chamber with at least three dead Draugr, and a wooden door stood ajar. I looked in, and pushed the door a little wider more out of habit. It moved slightly on silent hinges: bless ancient Nords for their silent hinges.

A man in Imperial Legion armor stood to one side, while a man in expensive robes knelt by an effigy of the Black Sacrament. I assumed they had both been here a while. "Are you sure it will work, my lord?"  
"I have no doubt. Though the Emperor's agents have severely decimated their numbers, they still take contracts." I couldn't see the man's face, but his voice was smooth, the sound something I would akin to a sly trickster and manipulator. Interesting, this client and contract would be. "They might take longer to get here, as a result…" he continued.  
"Well, that depends on when you started," I said, stepping into the room a little more. The bodyguard drew his blade as Amaund Motierre hastily stood. I raised my hands.  
"Rexus, it's alright. By the almighty Divines," Amaund said, stepping closer to me as he dusted his knees and his hands. "You've come. You've  _actually_  come. This dreadful Black Sacrament thing... it  _worked_."  
I nodded. "How can I help, Amaund?"

The Breton blinked, looking me over in a… strange way. I couldn’t decide if he was appraising me to determine my skill as an assassin or my potential as a bed mate. I narrowed my eyes at him when his gaze settled on my covered face. "Well, I won't waste your time. I'm glad you're here. Surely your time is as  _valuable_  as my own."  
I blinked in reply. He seemed uncomfortable when he continued, realizing I wasn't going to say more. "Right, then. You prefer to listen, is that it?" I smirked under my cowl, almost wishing he could see my expression. Amaund continued, muttering more to himself for a moment. "Well, you must obviously represent the Dark Brotherhood; I certainly wasn't expecting anyone else. So I'll cut to the chase. I would like to arrange a contract. Several, actually. I dare say, the work I'm offering has more  _significance_  than anything your organization has experienced in, well, centuries," he stood taller, his confidence in dealing with me growing.  
"Go on," I said, intrigued.  
"As I said, I want you to kill several people. You'll find the targets, as well as their manners of elimination, quite varied. I'm sure someone of your…  _disposition…_  will probably even find it enjoyable. But you should know that these killings are but a means to an end: for they pave the way to the most important target…. The real reason I'm speaking with a cutthroat in the bowels of this detestable crypt." I narrowed my eyes at being called a 'cutthroat', shifting my stance.  _I suppose that's true, all things considered,_  I admitted.

"For I seek the assassination of…  _the Emperor_."

I raised my brows, surprised. But I kept my tone level and matter-of-fact. "The emperor? Well, leaders rise and fall. Business is business."  
The Dark Brotherhood hasn't had a contract like this in a very long time: Amaund was right. "Oh, wonderful!" he grinned, and looked even more conniving than before. "You don't know how happy I am to hear you say that! So much planning, and maneuvering. Now it's as if the very  _stars_  have finally aligned…. But I digress. Here, take these. They need to be delivered to your, um...  _superior_. Rexus. The items," Amaund gestured to his bodyguard to bring items to me.

A letter and an amulet, by the looks of it. I took them, carefully turning the amulet in my hands. It looked very expensive. "These two items  _must_  be passed along to your superior. The sealed letter will explain everything that needs to be done. The amulet is quite valuable – you can use it to pay for any and all expenses."  
I nodded curtly. "I'll make sure this gets done." I grinned. "I believe it will be a pleasure doing business with you, Amaund."  
The Breton sniffed, dipping his head quickly. His bodyguard looked much less charmed.

Now I just needed to kill Ennodius Papius, and head back to the Sanctuary.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I spent my birthday doing the one thing that made me happiest: killing.

I found Ennodius camped a short distance from Anga's Mill, and excitedly told him that I was officially twenty-eight today. He had been wary, backing away and trying to be polite despite obvious paranoia. The second he turned his back my blades were in his back and neck.  _Well, he was right to be paranoid,_  I sniggered, wiping the last splatters of blood from my face. I considered continuing to Windhelm to buy a horse when I realized I didn't have the coin, and buying on credit meant I'd have to return to settle my debt, one way or another.

 _But I_ can  _buy a seat on a cart to Falkreath,_  I schemed. It wouldn't be as fast as horseback, but it was better than walking. I would return to my home soon.

_I'm coming, Cicero._


	9. Storytelling and Celebrations

**Chapter 9: Storytelling and Celebrations**

Babette asked Cicero to join her in herb shopping late one windy-cloudy afternoon. Cicero wondered why, then he remembered the un-child  _was_  like a child to everyone else! So he agreed, locking the Night Mother and his chambers and he fixed his jester's cap. Babette was waiting patiently by the Door, a basket in arm. "Sweet sister, shall we go, go,  _GO?!_ "  
Babette rolled her eyes. "Yes, Keeper."  
Cicero opened the door and held it for Babette, grinning brightly. Once he looked at the sky, he frowned. Alysa hadn't come back yet, and it was a month off five months since she left. I wondered when she would come back. "Brother?" an innocent girl's voice called. Cicero was surprised to see it was Babette. He hadn't thought the un-child could be so much like a child….

Cicero closed the Door behind him, holding his hand for the un-child "Yes, sister?"  
Babette just looked him over. Cicero wondered what she was thinking, but then Babette smiled too innocently – at least Cicero thought so – then put her cold hand in his. "Let's go to Falkreath!" she exclaimed, excited. And they all wondered about me… Cicero was sure this vampire was  _worse_. Much worse. When Cicero and Babette got close to Falkreath, the un-child ran ahead, giggling. Cicero almost didn't run after her. Oh, sweet Night Mother, Cicero would have trouble with  _that_  one… "Sweet sister! Don't get lost!" he called, spying Babette again. Not that he'd  _lost_  her. But Cicero could, if she  _wanted_  to be lost…. Vampires were always tricky. Tricky tricky….

Oh! Cicero knows what he can do while his sister buys herbs that sadly  _doesn't_  involve killing! Cicero can perform! He cackles, and starts dancing, miming… and what a crowd the Fool of Hearts gathered! Young, first, then older and older and oldest! Ha ha ha! "Good sir!" Cicero shouted at a weapons dealer, the same one he stole the dagger from the last time he came with Alysa… oh, that was fun, Mother! Cicero should do it again! "Cicero, the Fool of Hearts, would like a few daggers! For juggling!" Cicero showed him what he meant.

The man looked concerned. If Cicero was that man, maybe he'd be concerned, too: but then,  _Cicero_  is Cicero and not that man, because  _that_  man is himself and not Cicero's self… Cicero is a little confused, sweet Mother. The crowd cheered and jeered! For me to have daggers! "Give him a few daggers, Haaldin. What's the harm?" someone called. Cicero bowed as the knives were brought to him, then took them up. "First, just three for Cicero!" he called, juggling. Later, Cicero called again. "Another one, dear people!"

And they held out another one for Cicero, until he had, oh, seven? Seven! Seven deadly dangerous daggers to juggle! Cicero giggled. What would they do if he threw the daggers at seven very lucky, lucky people? They wouldn't know what hit them! Cicero laughed a little louder, and then a lute and drums gave him a beat to dance to. Oh, a funny joke! Don't you think, Mother? "How about another two, Jester?" a familiar voice called. Cicero almost forgot to juggle, almost dropped his daggers.

It was the Listener! It was Alysa! The Listener has returned from the hunt! Cicero beamed. "Of course! Throw them to Cicero, Li-lovely lady!" Cicero stammered, grinning. Alysa smirked; she heard Cicero's slip. He giggled as she readied her daedric daggers, coming closer. The crowd parted and whispered… oh, what a moment! Cicero noticed Alysa wasn't wearing her Dark Brotherhood armor, just the plain leather the commoners wore.

She took the dagger by the blade. Cicero glanced back at his flying daggers, frowning quickly. She was going to throw it like a throwing knife! It came! Cicero stepped aside, catching it and threw it into the air! The crowd cheers loudly! For the Fool of Hearts! And for the Listener's skill! Cicero grins and laughs at the crowd: oh, if they only knew his  _true_  skill, sweet Night Mother! Cicero is juggling eight now! "Ready when you are!" Cicero calls, moving in a circle with his daggers. Oh, he  _does_  love these sharp shiny daggers!

"The last one," Listener Alysa said, speaking just above the almost-silent crowd. She readied her blade. Cicero watches. She throws! Slower, this time: concentrating on  _not_  killing humble Cicero.

He catches!

He throws! And he juggles!

The crowd cheers again!

Even the un-child can't help herself: she's grinning at Cicero's skill! Cicero sees a gap in the crowd. There's a wooden post on the other side of the crowd… and I throw! All seven – one right after the other, right below one another into the post! A pity it wasn't a person… or many  _people_. He caught the Listener's two daggers, and held them out to her, bowing as she took them. The crowd cheered as Cicero bowed again, taking off his cap for coins. "Thank you, thank you! The Fool of Hearts thanks you! Cicero appreciates your time, O audience of Falkreath!" They all give him at least one coin, and some even gave him up to five and one gave him six, and Cicero puts his cap on carefully. He mustn't waste his gold, no not at all! Not ever! The  _other_  place might need new furnishings still…. Babette bought her last few herbs, and Alysa disappeared. Cicero was disappointed.

I took the un-child's hand when she held it out and left with her. He wondered how often she came to buy, but didn't ask. They were halfway to the Sanctuary when Cicero saw the Listener! "Listener!" Cicero stage-whispered, leaving the un-child and skipping to Alysa. She stood, a lazy smile on her face. Oh, such a pretty face, sweet Mother… every time Cicero sees her he knows you made the perfect choice – as you always do, Mother – for your Listener. "Cicero, Babette," she greeted. "That was quite a performance you've put together, Cicero."  
Cicero beamed. Babette sighed. "Cicero found many ways to help the Family!"  
"Yes, Keeper.  _That_  you have… mind your cap doesn't fall off in front of Astrid or Arnbjorn… one can never know what you three will do if that happens," she said, leaving for the Sanctuary.  
Cicero and Alysa watch the un-child disappear. "Cicero wonders why the Listener is wearing  _that_  armor and not your usual armor," Cicero looked back at Alysa.  
She frowned. Well, rather scowled. She reached for her pack on the ground, but Cicero was faster. She sighed, waving at Cicero that he could carry it. "Alright, then. Well, Penitus Oculatus agents are active on the roads. If I hadn't run into the Dragonborn, they would have found me."  
"A disguise! Clever, dear Listener! Dragonborn? And where is Listener Alysa's horse?"

Cicero doesn't like the way she said that word, 'Dragonborn'….

She nodded as we walked. "A dragon was attacking Rorikstead, and grabbed my horse. I helped the Dragonborn kill the dragon and  _he_  told the Penitus Oculatus agents when they arrived in the inn that night that no-one had the armor they described. They know exactly what we wear, Cicero. And they're getting bolder in their search for us," Alysa frowned. "What's going on between you, Astrid and Arnbjorn?"  
It was Cicero's turn to sigh. "The  _pretender_  still defies the Night Mother's wishes. Cicero confronted her and her…  _husband_  wanted to attack poor Cicero! He's  _never_  liked the Keeper! If Festus hadn't returned when he did, I think I might not have let the pretender and her husband live…" Cicero hisses. Oh, it still makes him furious, angry and deadly to think of it!  
"Hm. Well, between us, I found Volunruud anyway," Alysa said quietly. Cicero draped an arm around the Listener's shoulders.  
She looked a little uncomfortable, glaring at Cicero's arm. "Of course, Listener! Just between Listener, and Keeper! Just as it should be! Well, until the Listener finds a Speaker…" Cicero trailed sadly. Then Cicero would just be Keeper again to Alysa.  
"Cicero…."  
"Yes, Listener?" Cicero sang.  
"Don't…" she looked at Cicero's arm.  
He sighed, taking his arm back. "Of course, Listener."

Alysa nodded, saying the passcode to the Door. Cicero followed her inside, stopping to admire the stone door sliding shut with a  _boom!_  Cicero smiled at Alysa's back. Her hair was recently tied again, the long wisps wisping away from the wind that had blown in. Cicero wanted to smooth them away, but he knew the Listener wouldn't let poor Cicero touch her again, not so soon, anyway. "Festus returned a little while after you were gone," Cicero told Alysa. "He seems happy to know you are the Listener!" Cicero clapped and skipped around Alysa. She grinned.

Time had made her cold to dear Cicero again…. Cicero would fix that soon enough! Alysa sighed and rolled her eyes. "Come on, I'm looking forwards to whatever Nazir and Festus argued over making," she said, walking on and skipping down the stairs to the main area. Cicero followed her as she made her way to her bed, and put her pack on the floor.  
She looked at Cicero. Cicero looked back. He grinned. "Oh! Cicero understands! Cicero will see you downstairs!" he turns, skipping down to the dining hall to talk to Festus.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I had forgotten how easily Cicero could get in my space, after spending almost six months by myself and as little physical contact with people as I could get away with. I pulled out my red and black robes and quickly changed into them. I didn't like the way this leather fit me, and it was hard, uncomfortable compared to the Brotherhood's armor. I finished quickly, the smell of food wafting down the passages to my nose. I was hungry for something from home.

I hurried down the stairs, barefoot and slipped in behind Nazir as he filled a bowl of a spicy stew. "Toothpick…" Arnbjorn growled behind me. I turned to smirk at him.  
"You snooze, you lose," I chirped, sweeping the bowl out of Nazir's hands and planting myself on a chair at the table. Nazir had chuckled, and Cicero giggled hysterically from where he was stationed at the mead, filling two large tankards and setting one down next to me. I raised it when Cicero sat down in the chair next to mine. "Cheers," I said. Cicero grinned, echoing me as we clinked our tankards together. The table filled quickly with the other members, though I still hadn't seen Astrid, and Arnbjorn had apparently only come in to fetch food, glaring at me and Cicero briefly when he passed.

Even Babette came in, though her nose wrinkled in disgust at the smell of cooked food. She sat across from me, two chairs down, next to Festus. She had an excited, expectant look on her face. I blinked at her, playing dumb. "I forgot to ask you earlier. So…" she started, shifting in her seat a few times.  
Cicero glanced between us. "'So' what, Babette?" I asked innocently, blowing gently on the stew in my spoon before I tasted. I closed my eyes in bliss. By Sithis, this was the best food I'd had in six long months…. " _Alysa!_  My poison! You  _did_  use it, right?!" she insisted, her eyes going a little red from excitement.

I took my time to answer, eating more of the stew just to ruffle her feathers. "A new poison? What does  _this_  one do, Babette?" Festus asked. He seemed to be the most affectionate about Babette out of the all the Family members, and that was probably only due to the fact that they were both interested in the arcane. The little vampire grinned, full of herself for the moment. "It does ice damage while simultaneously driving the victim insane. Genius, I know. So, how did it work? How much did you use? What happened?" she pressed, turning back to me.  
I sighed through my nose but grinned coyly. Cicero was at the forefront of the cheer to convince me to share the details. I leaned back in my chair. "Oh, Babette, it was… oh, I was… I want  _more_  of that poison next time!" I cackled, then added, "Well, it works a little quickly, but very well."

I needed no further egging to describe my meeting with the unfortunate bard, and his tragic demise. Babette looked like she was about to cry from pride. Nazir and Festus had both laughed: at least they had agreed that Luburk's death was worth laughing about. Cicero had tried to imitate Luburk's howling, and might have gotten close, too, if he was a little more drunk. I had laughed, and added that not even Arnbjorn at his worst could make that kind of noise, which dampened the jester's mood a little, but it lightened quickly as other exploits were passed around. Festus explained a few magical details but gave up when we asked about his distorted victims, especially the very bloody ones, instead of the technicalities behind the spells.

Nazir told tales of older contracts, and the times he had been hunting in Hammerfell before he had been moved to Skyrim. Cicero was planning something in the midst of all the merriment: his eyes were twinkling and the grin that spread over his face gave him away. He licked the ends of his fingers, and like lightning he stretched across the table to smack Babette on the forehead, shrieking with laughter at her blank-shocked face.

I was still sniggering about it with the others when he did the same to me. I gasped, tensing and blinking, my laughter dead in my throat. Cicero was trying to stifle giggles. I wiped my forehead with a napkin, and turned to glare at him, but found I laughed the hardest of everyone. Mead flowed like water from Skyrim's mountain streams, and Nazir had eventually grabbed a drum and played some old, tribal Redguard beat. Veezara gave a fight display, and Festus graced us with an intricate magical display before waving us off and made his way to the sleeping quarters. Gabriella had come in at some stage, linking hands with Babette and spinning around.

I think I might have danced with her, too. I couldn't remember how much mead I'd had. But I was swept into different arms, and found myself spinning around and around and around and around –


	10. A New Vow

**Chapter 10: A New Vow**

My head felt like a fireball waiting to explode.

" _Hhmmm…_ " I moaned, sluggishly shifting onto my stomach. Someone hummed softly in the room. I sleep-growled, gathering enough energy to pull the pillow out and slam it over my head. I sighed with the effort. The humming stilled, and I was vaguely aware of my bed having more warm furs on it than usual. I dozed, until someone perched at the end of my bed. I tried to kick the intruder off, but found the bed was even  _longer_  than usual. It faintly occurred to me this wasn't  _my_  bed. Someone stifled chuckles, and I heard the sharp clink of glass on stone close to my head. "It's a healing potion," the voice whispered loudly. It was familiar….  
" _Hnngg!_ " I complained, and the intruder left, a door opening and closing fairly quietly.

My need to breathe eventually got the better of me.  _If I'm going to breathe, might as well sit up and drink it…_. If I could find the potion. I threw the pillow to the foot of the bed, wincing at the pain in my head, and started turning over onto my back, slowly sitting up with vertigo and a little nausea. I squinted in the light, letting my heavy head sit in my hands while I considered that I actually had a problem, before looking for the potion. I picked it up carefully, flinching at the sharp popping noise it made when I uncorked it and sipped the sweet liquid. I breathed deeply and kept sipping slowly, eventually feeling well enough to take in my surroundings.

I was in a room that was familiar, though I couldn't pinpoint where I had seen it before.

I was on a bed in a passage, just obscured from a room on the left, and to my right was a small dining room with an adjoining chamber. Sweet rolls and carrots as well as a few other foodstuffs were on plates and bowls. Whoever stayed here loved sweet rolls and carrots…. I stood slowly, swaying a little as I moved to the table, potion in hand.

I had no idea where I was, who had spoken to me. I felt panic rise: it made me angry. I  _never_  panicked about anything.  _Why haven't I ever thought of drinking a healing potion?_  I suddenly wondered, taking a sweet roll. At the very least, I still had my clothes on; I couldn't remember what I had done the night before, and it bothered me. That fed my panicked anger at myself even more as I bit into the bread, forcing myself to enjoy the cinnamon and sugar roll and relax. I felt a little surer on my feet now, and I decided to explore the other side of the passage. I licked the sugar off my fingers as I finished the potion. I felt about normal, again.

I felt all the blood drain from my face. The Night Mother's coffin was to my left, a bedroll on the floor, next to a table of oils and embalming tools. Right about then the friendly-neighborhood-killing-jester-assassin came in. He stopped in the door, looking me over before smirking brightly. "How does the Listener feel?" he asked, closing the door. I watched him warily. "Don't worry, Listener! Cicero brought you here after you started running around the Sanctuary, cutting and slashing and fighting with invisible enemies! And  _Cicero_  is the 'crazy' one!" he giggled darkly. " _Oh, if I chance to see a CAT, I'll feed its corpse to my PET_ _RAT!_ "  
I blinked, wondering at the sudden outburst. "I did nothing else,  _nothing_  at all?" I pressed.  
Cicero shook his head quickly. "Oh! I lie! You beat Nazir at a drinking game! He's much worse off," Cicero cackled. "And Cicero never knew Alysa could dance –"  
"I did  _what_?!" I danced?! A vague memory of spinning around came to me. I tried to remember who I was dancing with.  _And I beat Nazir at a drinking game? Impossible_. I was about to ask Cicero when he started humming and examining the Night Mother.

I settled for watching him work, seemingly oblivious to my presence. It suited me: I needed to calm down and think. I decided I really did have a huge problem with my mead obsession as I sat down on the floor by the table, my left leg folded under me while my right made an arch. I didn't bother asking Cicero if I could help, or which bottles or tools to pass him: I doubted he would have let me, and I had no idea which bottle or tool was what. So I laced my fingers together on my knee, put my chin on top and watched.

He hummed and sang now and again, occasionally doing some kind of a jig. As I watched him, I wondered why exactly I had fallen in love with Cicero. I knew one couldn't  _choose_  who to fall in love with, I was just wondering  _why_  Cicero: the jester, the assassin, the madman whose moods could change as easily as one might breathe. Granted, he had skills as an assassin I could only guess at, considering I had not known him before now, nor really seen him at his best.

He was physically attractive, with a tall, lithe form, undoubtedly still toned beneath his jester's garb, if not as refined as he once was. I suspected he trained often enough, despite what most of the Sanctuary might think of him. Plus, as a jester he had surely learnt a few other tricks and habits, outside of what the Brotherhood taught. I could only assume this because he never seemed to get tired. Cicero could only have made it to Keeper by being dedicated to the Old Ways and the Night Mother, as well as a gifted assassin. It was the only way one could get so high up, minus the odd exception, like myself, I supposed.

I shuddered to think what it must have been like for Cicero to lay down his blade for embalming oils and the likes. As an assassin from Cyrodiil, he had surely had some exciting contracts, and I could only assume that since he had been the only one to come up, his Sanctuary had been completely destroyed like so many others. Loosing Family, your duty as an assassin and whatever other hardships Cicero had surely experienced… it was no wonder he was crazy. I had a kind of admiration for his perseverance, and those brief moments of sanity left me feeling that the Fool of Hearts was a little different to the man Cicero had been, a little more extreme in each regard.

A small smile played my lips as I leaned my cheek on my hands instead. Cicero had been the first person I had met who made me believe there could be more to life than just being an assassin, killing however and whenever I pleased. Oh, I loved it, let none misunderstand me, and once I started I could go on and on, the sounds of man and mer and beast dying, the smell of fear and blood… I appreciated it all, but Cicero gave me a kind of peace that was different to the relief and ecstasy taking a life brought, something I had come to accept I would probably never know for myself, something I would only see around me. I felt reasonably safe with the jester, despite his attempt to kill me when I was declared Listener.

In fact, thinking back, I would have done the same thing he had, were our positions reversed. Where his personality was concerned, I couldn't say much: he was pleasant to be with, although erratic and sadistic at times, but loyal and apparently kind and someone I trusted, considering he had somehow convinced me to come to his area of the Sanctuary. Whether or not it was actually genuine care for me, or if he was just looking out for me because I was the Listener, I couldn't yet say.

But I was fairly sure it was the former.

Cicero really wasn't doing much with the Night Mother, just checking for things only he knew, applying oil to certain areas and carefully replacing her bound body in the coffin. I'd ask him about what he was doing sometime. Suddenly he jumped back. "All done, Mother!" he sang, clasping his hands together.  
"Cicero," I started when he turned around. He glanced at me a few times as he put his things away. "I was rude last night when we came back from Falkreath, and I…" I trailed off. I just couldn't bring myself to say a heartfelt 'I'm sorry' or 'Thank you'; I never had. Cicero beamed at me, nodding. "Cicero understands," he looked away to pull off his gloves. He held out a hand to me. "Cicero accepts the most honorable Listener's statement," he said wittily. I grinned at his way around my not-quite-said apology, and took his hand.

He pulled me up faster than I had really expected. We were almost nose to nose, our hands linked at Cicero's chest. His grin told me he knew I was a little uncomfortable. My breath caught in my throat as we stared at each other for a few seconds. We let each other go at the same time. I broke Cicero's gaze. "Uhm… I… should find Nazir, and check up on… the things I acquired from the client," I stumbled over my words, wondering how I could be reduced to a stuttering little girl in Cicero's presence.  
Cicero nodded. "Cicero was thinking he might train today, if the honorable Listener would like to join me," he said, his eyes hopeful.  
"Yes, I'd like that," I nodded quickly, remembering why it was so difficult for me to leave the Fool of Hearts. I smiled. Cicero beamed.

And I almost tripped over my own feet. Almost.

I wandered through the Sanctuary to find Babette first. If anyone would have an accurate description of what happened the night before, it was her. I found her slumped in a chair by Nazir's bed, the Redguard looking worse for wear. "Babette?" I whispered. Her eyes flared open and she jolted upright. Nazir moaned and I felt his pain. I swore off drinking more than necessary.  
"Alysa," Babette greeted, her tone a little sleepy but she looked interested in me. "How–?"  
"I drank a healing potion," I replied softly, gesturing her to come with me. She placed a bucket closer to Nazir and put his arm on its rim. We headed down to the dining hall.  
"I should have thought of that a long time ago," she hissed, irritated with herself. She stifled a yawn. "You were really going at it with Nazir last night," she laughed softly.  
"I really have no idea how, though: I've never beaten anyone at a game like that, and as of this morning I have no plan to do it again," I admitted, snorting. "So, what exactly happened last night?"  
Babette blinked slowly. "You danced, you beat Nazir, Festus complained about the noise, Arnbjorn didn't make another appearance until this morning, Gabriella danced and did readings, and I get to clean up the mess afterwards…. Oh, and then you started chasing something around the Sanctuary, Cicero followed and I had to make sure everyone got to where they needed to be."

My mouth made an 'O' shape. Seems Cicero was right about what happened. "I will  _not_  let this happen to me again… I suppose I should be grateful it turned out as well as it had…." I said, while Babette nodded sleepily. "Could I fetch a healing potion for Nazir and you head off to sleep?"  
Babette nodded. "You know where to find them," she stifled another yawn. I nodded and headed to her alchemy lab which looked over our resident pet Frostbite Spider Liz's hovel, and opened the cabinet. I took one of the stronger potions and headed back up to the sleeping quarters. Babette convinced a very sarcastic Nazir to cooperate for long enough to drink some of the potion.

In between the two volleying sharp remarks back and forth – and a few muttered curses from Nazir – I left to make sure the amulet and letter I had gotten from Amaund was still hidden under my newly-acquired leather armor.

Satisfied they were both there, I went looking for Astrid. Gabriella stopped me when I passed her by Babette's alchemy lab. "Astrid isn't here, I believe she's found another recruit, Listener. She'll return later today," she said, not looking up from her tarot cards.  
I frowned at the hooded Dunmer woman, nodding slowly. "I see…." Well, if  _that_  was the case, I might as well start training. Or find Arnbjorn and convince him to check my weapons and armor for weak spots and repair them. I shook my head at myself when I returned to my chest, annoyed I hadn't thought straight – I could have taken it with me and been in the training are now, working on blade techniques.

I took my daggers, bow and Shrouded Armor from my chest and trudged to the main room where Arnbjorn usually worked on armor and weapon projects. As sure as I was Listener, he was at the grindstone, sharpening a sword. "Arnbjorn," I greeted over the shrill sound of metal on stone.  
"Tidbit," he growled, taking the blade off and letting the stone wheel grind to a halt. I hefted my things a little higher.  
"I'd like you to have a look at these, and repair them if they're damaged," I said. "Where can I put them for you?" I had learnt long ago that giving Arnbjorn half a chance to say 'no' meant spending the next week convincing him to consider it. Arnbjorn jerked his head at the workbench, and I nodded curtly, putting my armor on the table, daggers on top of that and my bow next to the pile.

I headed back to the training area, thinking to take one of the many training weapons to fight with, when I saw Cicero already busy with a long ebony dagger, his movements sure and agile as he turned, ducked, slashed and stabbed. I'd never seen anyone use so much of their body when fighting. I was awestruck, really, especially when he switched hands and was just as accurate. I might use two daggers, but I'd never really spent time on practicing with my left hand to the same level as my right. I stepped closer.

"Listener!" Cicero shouted.  
I sighed, letting a lazy half-smile creep over my face. "Keeper," I returned. He sheathed his blade and straightened before bowing deeply and making a wide gesture at the Brotherhood's array of wooden weapons when he straightened. "Choose your plaything!"  
I sniggered. Playthings of an assassin they were… I took a dagger, Cicero unbuckling his ebony blade and taking up a wooden one of the same length as his blade.

We circled each other briefly, and I suddenly found myself flat on my back.

I stared open-mouthed at Cicero. He didn't fight fair! Not that I ever did, but I hadn't even seen that coming! I frowned at him when I stood up, taking my guard more seriously. I, apparently, had a lot more to learn from Cicero than I had realized. I spent most of my time dodging him, but even that was poorly accomplished on my part. Cicero seemed intent on teaching the hard way.

I couldn't find a gap in his defences, and he was much more agile than I was. After my umpteenth slap with his dagger, and the second time I ended on the floor, I snarled angrily at him. Why did he have to be so difficult?

I charged him, dagger ready. Cicero caught me, spun me round and twisted my training dagger from my grasp and held his to my throat.  _He doesn't fight fair,_  I complained in my head.  
_He has learnt to survive, my Listener; through being harder, faster and cheating my Keeper has learnt to keep himself alive, and defend my vessel,_  the Night Mother's voice resounded in my head. I felt my anger dissipate, fading into cool clear-headedness, and I leaned into Cicero's embrace. He had been through more than I could imagine… a plan formed in my mind. I could feel Cicero loosen his hold on me.

I struck.

I drove my elbow deep into Cicero's ribs, twisting out of his grip as I gripped his wrist and pulled the dagger out of his hands.

I felt a moment of happiness: I might win.

Cicero was still faster to react: we ended in a deadlock, my training dagger to his throat and one of his hidden, real daggers in my side, just under my ribs.

I frowned at him, confused. Where did he hide all his weapons? "You learn quickly, Alysa. But you still need to learn a lot, sweet and honorable Listener," Cicero whispered, his eyes shining. I had a feeling he was going to enjoy teaching me. I wasn't sure I was going to enjoy it as much.

Voices came from the passage to the Door. It sounded like a man and a woman, probably Astrid and her new assassin. My new brother.

 _Our_  new brother.

"Let's meet the new blood," Cicero winked, quickly stepping back and sheathing his hidden blade. I had a lot to learn from him. I put the training dagger on the table, and stepped out into the main room.

I hadn't quite expected my new brother to be who he was.


	11. An Old Acquaintance

**Chapter 11: An Old Acquaintance**

The boy with the pretender was young – Imperial, too – but tall, and filling out, Cicero thought. Dark hair, dark eyes – typical Imperial, unlike Cicero with his red hair and gray eyes – with their new brother's open and very innocent-looking face. I decided I don't like this new boy, but he can be changed to follow the Old Ways and obey Listener Alysa.

Oh, sweet Mother, Cicero felt terrible fighting Alysa! Being so close, yes; Cicero liked that. Cicero giggles. A very good excuse to have the Listener close, to touch her… Cicero wondered why she didn't like being touched. It confused humble Cicero to no end, sweet Mother. What had happened that she was like this?

The new boy was wearing Stormcloak armor, Cicero thought he recognized, and seemed very happy to be here. He looked at Cicero, and then at Alysa and he grinned brightly.  _Too_  brightly. Cicero narrowed his eyes at this boy. He would carve that grin off he saw it in his Listener's direction again….

"You! I remember you! From when you killed Grelod the Kind," the boy said, looking at Alysa.  
She just blinked at him, and maybe looked a little surprised under it all, Cicero thinks. "Hm, yes, you're Aventus Aretino," the Listener replied. So he  _used_  to be a client… Cicero thought that interesting - not all that many who were clients became assassins, though Cicero knew of a few  _targets_  who later became assassins because they managed to escape and kill the one who wanted them dead. Cicero found  _that_  fascinating.  
The new boy – Aventus – nodded excitedly. "Yes! I –"  
"So, you two are already acquainted," the pretender drawled. "Alysa, you can take over Aretino's training and show him around our Sanctuary."

A little girl's scream filled the common room. The Listener turned, her eyes shining. What was the un-child up to?

Babette came running, tripping over her torn, bloody and dirty-filthy-soiled skirts, crying and panting. Cicero glances at Alysa. She's trying not to smile as she watches the un-child. Cicero grins: he understands! It's a joke! A very funny joke…. He he he he!  
" _Please!_ " the un-child screamed, tripping more as she tried to stand up. " _Help me_  please!" She ran to the new blood Aventus, but sweet Alysa grabbed the back of her shirt, grinning. Cicero tried not to laugh too hard. "Please! You  _have_  to  _help me!_ " the un-child screamed, crying. "They killed my parents and took me!  _Help me!_ " she cried and cried and cried and cried. And Cicero giggled.

The new blood looked a little horrified. "Hush, child," the Listener said, rolling her eyes. "You're staying here, with us. Your new  _Family_ , brothers and sisters who will love you and care for you…."  
"I apologize, Alysa, Astrid; I hadn't expected her to run quite so fast," Gabriella spoke slowly, marching to dear Alysa and taking a sobbing and begging Babette away, into her arms. But the un-child broke free! Cicero watched Gabriella and Alysa look at each other. Babette fell to her knees at Aventus's feet, clutching his armor. "Please, Sir,  _please_  help me! Take me  _away_! I want to go  _home_ …" she sobbed, pressing her head into his thigh. Cicero wondered if the un-child would bite him. He giggled. Alysa and Gabriella looked at him. "Oh, it's a clever one," Cicero giggles.  
"You, I–" Aventus stuttered. He looked concerned about this un-child. He reached down to pick her up up up!

He he he, and then he was  _flat_  on his  _back!_  Without his weapon! Ah-hahahaha! "Never trust  _anyone_ ," Babette sneered, turning and striding away as she cackled. Everyone laughed and sniggered. But Cicero loved the way the Listener laughed. Oh, such a sweet sound to humble Cicero. I could spend forever listening to the Listener. Oh, a paradox! The  _Listener_  listens, and the  _Speaker_  speaks! Not the Listener  _speaking_  and the Speaker  _listening_ … not that Cicero is either, sweet Mother. I will forever be your humble Keeper, to keep forever! Alysa chuckled still while Aventus stood up, confused. "Alysa, I have a few things I need to do. Show Aretino around the Sanctuary, and introduce him to the Family. Make sure he understands all the rules and gets settled in," the pretender said, sauntering away.

Alysa pursed her lips at that  _harlot_. Oh, one day Cicero will bury his blade in her so many times they will think she was never whole… but very hole-y. Cicero sniggers. "Cicero is  _OFF!_  He shall return soon!" And Cicero skipped away. He must tidy up, and tell Mother about her new son, Aventus Aretino. Though Mother surely knows already. Oh, the Dark Brotherhood will rise again!

 

* * * * * * *

 

Aventus Aretino. The new blood. My new brother.

I suppose I should have seen it coming, considering how excited he had been to see me, even though I hadn't even joined the Brotherhood then. He was about eight years younger than me, I supposed, and he had grown up fairly well. Pity he was still so naïve… he must have been one of the newest recruits to the Stormcloaks. I sniggered again when I thought of Babette's little prank: she had tried it on me as well, but I had been so shocked to see a little girl that I had ended up backing away from her, watching as her tears slowly became red with blood.

I liked to think it was from that moment that she had decided to befriend me, to a certain degree. "Well, I'll also be off, but to my cards. It's a pleasure to meet you, Aventus. I am Gabriella," the Dark Elf said, then turned on heel and floated to where Babette and Festus would surely be busy with some arcane experiment.  
"What was that about?" he asked when he picked up his axe. I could swear his pride and ego were far beyond damaged. I smirked at him.  
"That little girl was Babette, our resident alchemist. If you plan on becoming a good assassin, you'll need to be able to outsmart her, because you'll never beat her. Follow me, I'll show you where you'll be staying," I turned and walked away, Aventus jogging up next to me. He was loud, even when he walked. Very loud.  
"Oh. What do you mean by that?"  
"The Dark Brotherhood is an elite group of assassins, a Family, and we accept what most others shun. Werewolves, vampires, psychopaths, murderers… you name it, and there's a chance it's been in our Family –"  
"What does this have to do with Babette?" Aventus interjected. I sighed impatiently, coming to a halt in the middle of the training room  
"She wasn't finished, Boy," Babette said softly, appearing in front of us. "I am a vampire. So  _respect_  your  _elders_."

He stared at her, taking a step back, reaching for his axe. Babette giggled; a surprisingly innocent sound as she grinned at him, her sharp canines glinting in the low firelight. Arnbjorn growled his laugh as he came out from the forge. "Some new meat. Hope you last, Steak," he shouldered past Aventus to find Astrid. I hoped they wouldn't be too noisy…. I raised a brow at Arnbjorn's back. I hated being in the Sanctuary with them if one had been away. Aventus looked confused.

"Werewolf," Babette and I answered at the same time. We grinned at each other. "His name is Arnbjorn, Astrid's husband. This way to the sleeping quarters," I said, waving him along. Babette just stared after us, smiling too sweetly at Aventus. I took him the long way around, to the beds first. He started bugging me with questions about the Family, history, the Night Mother, Sithis…. As soon as we were in the passage I stopped him. "Aventus, I will tell you all I know, and more, but not now. Don't ask why, and don't ask too much of the others.  _I_  will tell you later, in private. Things are in motion right now that are causing some…  _tension_. I will explain, I promise you that, but not now." He looked dejected. But he nodded sullenly. I nodded curtly. "Good, come. Now, Sithis is –"  
Someone slammed into me. I  _hated_  living in a Sanctuary full of sneaky assassins. I struggled briefly, but quickly found myself pinned between a wall, and guess who? My favorite jester. I took a deep breath. "I will  _kill_  you if you do that again," I threatened.  
"The Listener would break one of the Five Tenants?" Cicero teased. I wasn't entirely sure if I should be grateful I was facing him and not the wall.  
"Listener? Five Tenants?" Aventus muttered. I tuned him out.  
"The Listener isn't very good at surprise attacks," Cicero chided, his body very close to me, his nose almost touching mine. I had the urge to wrinkle my nose, and struggled to ignore it.  
" _He_ ," I twitched my head in Aventus's direction, "isn't a very good backup partner," I returned.  
Cicero giggled.  
"What's going on? Who is he really?" Aventus asked warily.  
"Cicero thinks you should send the boy to him afterwards. Cicero wants to  _teach_  him something. And Cicero thinks the Listener isn't very well prepared for anything to happen at any time…" Cicero pushed off the wall, backing away. I hadn't realized how warm he had been so close to me – I already missed his warmth.

I narrowed my eyes slightly at the jester, a smile playing my lips. "This is one of the things you plan on 'teaching' me, isn't it?" I asked. I hadn't really expected an answer, so Cicero's twinkling eyes and grin before he turned and skipped away told me it was. I sighed: I just hoped he would have the sense not to irritate me when I was in my bed – as much as I liked the fool, I might hurt him by accident if he tried to wake me up again. I sniggered at the memory of my first fight with Cicero – I suppose I hadn't really been winning, but I wasn't going to admit that to anyone. Not over my dead body.

"Alysa? Who is that creep? I hadn't even heard him coming…."  
I frowned at Aventus. "That 'creep' is the Night Mother's Keeper, Cicero, so you'll treat him with due respect. And that's how an assassin  _should_  move – silently. When I'm done with you, you can go find out what he wants." Calling Cicero a 'creep'… I shook my head. Delusional, crazy, sadistic… well, I suppose it all added up to that but I really couldn't say that was how  _I_  felt about him.

Aventus sighed, then breathed a 'whoa' when he took in our sleeping quarters. It wasn't much, but I supposed he thought the spot above the dining hall was cozy. "Don't be so thrilled – it's the worst if there's a party in the dining hall and you're trying to sleep. Trust me, I would know," I said, pointing to the stairs. Aventus nodded next to me as he peered over the edge. "There aren't really any rules concerning the beds, but we all have our preferences. Since you're the newest recruit, and the other beds are all taken while the members are at home, you're the lucky sucker who gets to sleep closest to the stairs." I showed him to his bed.

It was probably the lightest spot in this part of the Sanctuary, and by far the noisiest, not counting downstairs at a time like last night… I felt my cheeks color a little at the thought of everything I had done, and couldn't remember. "You have a chest, which you can use freely – no-one will take anything from it, or open it without your permission, or unless need calls for an intervention," I turned to face him. He looked a little put off that he had such an unfortunate place to sleep, but thank the Night Mother and Sithis it was his problem.

"Thanks, Alysa. Uhm, why does Chickpea call you a 'listener'?"  
I glared at him. Cicero would have a fit if he heard that. Well, Aventus could learn  _that_  the hard way: he barely even noticed my glare. I hoped he wasn't going to have some stupid puppy-love directed at me. " _Cicero_  calls me the Listener because it's my title in the Dark Brotherhood, one of the things I will explain to you later. And probably what he wants to tell you as well…." I motioned him to follow me down the stairs.

"Dining hall," I said, crossing the room and heading up the short flight of stone steps to Babette's lab and hang-out area for all the arcane users. Interestingly, Nazir was sitting at the table across from Gabriella. I wasn't sure about their friendship, because they were rarely together but sometimes seemed as if they had been friends since birth. "Ah, the new blood, I presume. I am Nazir," the Redguard greeted. I always loved the sound of his voice: rich, deep and perfect for telling stories. And tell stories he could. I nodded curtly. "Aventus Aretino," Aventus said, holding out a hand to Nazir.  
"Fingers for my blade? You're too kind, boy," Nazir said, shifting in his seat as he stared first at Aventus's fingers then his face. I sniggered at how quickly Aventus had curled his fingers into a fist. Festus and Babette emerged from Liz's hovel. "Listener," Festus greeted when he saw me. Then he glanced over Aventus. "Eh, I don't have time for this 'new blood'," he said, grumbling some more before wandering to another part of the Sanctuary.  
"That's Festus Krex. To describe him in his own words, he's the grumpy uncle everyone generally avoids," I said when Aventus looked my way. He frowned in amazement – I had only seen him out of the corner of my eye.  
"You have a lot to learn, boy. Between the lot of us here, you'll learn how to stay alive and kill. Or you'll die young, like most of them do," Nazir said, resting his hand on the hilt of his scimitar. He was dangerous with that blade, and it was one I doubted I would ever master. "Has he met the fool yet?" Nazir quizzed.  
I half-shook, half-nodded my head. "Sort of, though not officially. We're headed to the Night Mother now," I said. Gabriella hummed something, and Nazir nodded, looking mildly interested in what she was doing. Babette just grinned at us.

Aventus seemed thrilled to get away from the little vampire.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Veezara must have left on some contract or outing because he wasn't anywhere in the Sanctuary that I had passed until now. I took Aventus straight to the Night Mother's chambers, where Cicero was humming and dancing. I stood in the door, leaning against the frame as I watched the Fool of Hearts. Aventus sniffed and shifted behind me, his hand moving to his axe.

By Sithis, was he always this loud?! It was very annoying, and it had Cicero's attention immediately. "Cicero thinks his new brother is too loud to be a very good assassin…" he frowned, facing us as I came in to sit cross-legged on the table. I just smiled. Oh, the fun we would have when we taught Aventus to be quiet…. A recruit came in about three years ago, who would have made Aventus seem silent if he was still alive. He was killed completing a contract because he refused to learn to be quiet. Idiot. Though, it was quite funny to see him shredded to pieces by the Orc beserker.

Aventus looked wary when he saw the Night Mother's coffin. It was closed, so he wouldn't see the mummified corpse inside, but he would. Eventually. "What exactly is that?" he asked, nodding at the coffin.  
"Why, Cicero thinks the boy is blind! It's a  _coffin_ , silly!" Cicero giggled, prancing a little. I held back my own giggles, but I was still grinning. Aventus wasn't having an especially kind welcome to the Family. His face went a shade of red, and he floundered for a few seconds.  
"That's the Night Mother's coffin. She is our Unholy Matron, and she is the one who guides us, and gives us purpose," I said, flicking my loose hair out of my face. "She speaks only to the assassin who holds the title of Listener, and at present I am that assassin."  
"And sweet, humble Cicero is the Keeper! I look after our Mother, and keep her safe!" Cicero grinned broadly, his hand hovering over his ebony blade. I got the feeling he didn't like the other Imperial all that much.  
Aventus nodded slowly, leaning against a counter at the back of the room. "I heard. But isn't she a corpse? And what about Sithis? Are there other Sanctuaries, other assassins? Why are there so few here?"

Cicero and I exchanged a quick glance. We'd have our hands full with him. I think we both agreed that he would learn from the beginning what it meant to respect and obey the Night Mother, and her closest assassins – the Listener, the Speakers, and the Keeper. Not that we had all of that yet, mind you. But we would, if it was all up to me, and I was sure Cicero agreed to that.

So we spent the rest of the day taking turns to explain the history of the Dark Brotherhood, our connections with Sithis and the Night Mother, and how we were the only Sanctuary left, the only remaining Family of a once-great and feared Brotherhood, as well as the Five Tenants. Though, I left that to Cicero – I didn't know them all that well. I supposed I should, considering my current position within the Sanctuary.

Aventus seemed saddened by the loss of it all, and he was beginning to understand why there would be issues with the other members where the Night Mother, Cicero and I was concerned. Though, he hadn't quite experienced the tension yet. Cicero stared at me for a while. "Honorable Listener, humble Cicero would like to speak with…  _Aventus_ , alone. If the great and mighty Listener would allow…?"  
Aventus glanced between me and Cicero. "Should I call you 'Listener', too?"  
I looked at my new brother. "Technically yes, but for the sake of peace in this Sanctuary, no. Many will see it as an attack on Astrid's position. I'm not interested in a great divide just yet: we're a small Family, and we need to stay unified. And Cicero, of course you can," I smiled, unfolding my legs and slipping off the table. "Just don't slice him to bits and pieces." I winked at Cicero, and smirked at Aventus.

I needed to find Astrid and see if she had made up her mind about Amaund, and later Nazir for my pay. I had forgotten about that in all the excitement.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Cicero sighed happily when he sent his new brother off. He thinks this new one understands to leave sweet Alysa alone when not training with her. He had better, or Cicero would teach him…. About being a good assassin  _and_  irritating the Listener. Oh, beloved Mother, the Brotherhood is growing again! I am so pleased… and to think that Cicero will be a part of it, with the mighty Listener to guide us as you direct her…. Cicero giggles, and jumps up and down, down and up! It's such a happy time for the Dark Brotherhood, so much killing and assassinating to do, and gold to be made! All for you, sweet Night Mother, and to bring souls to our Dread


	12. Astrid's Decision

**Chapter 12: Astrid's Decision**

I found Astrid and Arnbjorn in their separate room; the wolf was in a very casual pair of pants, and Astrid was propped up on an elbow on the bed, pulling the covers over herself when I opened the door after I knocked and was called in. I just resisted wrinkling my nose in disgust – could they at least  _pretend_  to be decent? I couldn't help but remember what Cicero called Astrid – a pretender. I supposed it was accurate enough.

"Astrid, I was just wondering –"  
"Yes, I want to speak to you about Amaund. I'll meet you just outside in a few," she said, a lazy smile on her face. I nodded curtly, closing the door behind me.

Thank Sithis she was quick. I wasn't particularly patient with her before, and now that she kept questioning and second-guessing what was happening only served to irritate me more, never minding the fact that she distrusted me because I was Listener. It all added fuel to my fire. Had I not asked  _her_  if I should go speak to Amaund? Had I not turned to  _her_  even though I could over-rule her now? I had  _still_  turned to my leader about it, despite the fact that I could easily have overridden her, and taken her place – I still respected her enough to do that. Was she so  _jealous_  she was acting petty?

I watched her as she leaned against the wall, crossing her arms even as I folded mine across my chest. "Look. Something is happening here. I'm not sure entirely what that something is, but…. Well, we need to find out. If the Night Mother really  _did_  give you an order to talk to a contact, we'd be mad to ignore it. And I think we'd both agree – Cicero's brought quite enough madness to this Sanctuary. So go. Go to Volunruud. It's a crypt, pretty far to the northeast. Talk to this…  _Amaund Motierre_. And let's see where all this leads. Hmm?"  
"Hn. I've already been there; he's given me details about what he wants done. I'll fetch the items," I said, ignoring her look of shocked outrage and strode to my chest, quickly removing the letter and the amulet and brought them back to a flabbergasted Astrid. She straightened for long enough to take the items from me. She examined the amulet, then put it on the table, the letter next to it. "All right, so? What did he want?"  
"He wants the Emperor assassinated."  
"You're joking," Astrid blurted. I raised my brow, looking pointedly at the letter and amulet. She quickly opened the letter, and read it quickly. "By Sithis, you're  _not_  joking…. To kill the Emperor of Tamriel… the Dark Brotherhood hasn't done such a thing since the assassination of Pelagius! As a matter of fact, no-one has dared assassinate an Emperor of Tamriel since the murder of Uriel Septim, and that was two hundred years ago…" her voice was full of awe.  
I nodded lazily. "So we'll accept it?"  
"You're damn right we'll accept it!" Astrid exclaimed, putting the letter down. "If we pull this off, the Dark Brotherhood will know a fear and respect we haven't seen in  _centuries!_ You think I'd abandon an opportunity to lead my Family to glory?" she scoffed.

I didn't bother reminding her that the only reason we would get this glory is because of what  _I_  had done, because the Night Mother had chosen  _me_.

She shook her head as she picked up the letter again. "But this is all so much to take in… I need more time to re-read the letter, and figure out where we go from here. And this amulet… hmmm…."  
"What are you thinking?" I asked.  
"I'm thinking we need this amulet appraised. I want to know where it came from, how much it's worth, and if we can actually get away with selling it. There's only one man who can give us what we need – Delvin Mallory," she finished, looking proud of herself. I stared at her blankly. Her grin faltered a little. "He's a fence, a private operator. Works out of the Ratway, in Riften. I'll keep the letter, you take the amulet to Mallory. Find out everything you can, and sell it if he's willing. He'll probably offer a letter of credit – that's fine. Mallory and the Dark Brotherhood have…  _history_. He can be trusted."  
"Fine with me," I said, taking the amulet. "I want to take Aventus with me, to see how he can handle himself on the road and train him while we're out there."  
Astrid just narrowed her eyes slightly at me. "If he'll go with you, then you can take him."

I sniffed, then left. This would be interesting. I didn't get very far, though.

" _Alysaaa…_ " Babette sang, her hands clasped behind her back, her eyes glinting.  
"Babette," I returned, matching her tone but I ended up sounding wary instead of innocent. She sidled up a little closer to me, grinning broadly in that way only a vampire can grin. I wondered what this was about. I raised my brows at her. " _Sooo_ … I didn't get a chance to ask you earlier when you were with the new blood, and this morning I was so  _very_  tired, but, you and Cicero –"  
"Nope. Nothing happened between me and Cicero," I interjected just too quickly. She was going to call me out on that one…. I frowned at her. It was surely only afternoon now. "Why  _are_  you awake, Babette?"  
She sighed, shuffling her feet as her grin faded. "Gabriella agreed to be a…  _donor_." Drinking blood gave Babette energy, and she wasn't particularly fond of drinking from any of us – mostly to keep everyone in top form if the Penitus Oculatus agents found our Sanctuary. Babette grinned again, looking up at me as she continued. "So, Cicero running after you last night was nothing, never minding the fact that you didn't  _quite_  make it back to your  _own_  bed…?" Her eyes were glinting.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I felt my face grow warm with a blush, and I ran my hands over my face and through my hair. Babette was grinning impishly at me. "Oh, I know nothing happened, but it's good to see you happy, Alysa. Couldn't resist a little teasing, especially since our new brother seems to have a crush on you…" her eyes twinkled, and she turned away from me. Before she glided away to another part of the Sanctuary, she said over her shoulder, "Just take care of yourself, Alysa. I don't wa- _need_  to have to fix you if something goes sour." She left without another sound. I allowed a small half-smile: I had always considered Babette as my closest friend in the Sanctuary, and her rare moments of sincere caring were seemingly reserved just for me. But she was right: Aventus  _did_  seem to have a crush of sorts on me… Sithis help me, things were going to get rough in here…. And if both of us noticed it, the whole Sanctuary would be buzzing with it for weeks.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Aventus had eagerly agreed to accompany me, and Arnbjorn had returned my things to me a little while after he fitted our new brother in new armor –  _that_  little appointment lasted well into the early evening. Aventus had been surprised at how easily he could move in it, and he was also much quieter than before, which was a miracle. Enchantments made a world of difference. But he would need much more teaching if he had even half a hope to make it through his first contract, never minding anything else.

Someone was cooking something that smelled wonderful, and I let my nose guide my feet to the dining hall, where I found Nazir reclining on a bench with a large tankard of something in hand, bantering with Festus about spices and food. The two made very different kinds of food, but they were both delicious. I sat on the fence whenever they argued over whose was better and why that was true. I shook my head, smirking as I planted myself next to Nazir on the bench's arm. "Well, I owe you some money for that competition last night. Apparently, you won. I can't say I ever saw that coming, little Ice-Wrath," Nazir rumbled, laughing at the expression on my face. I  _hated_  being called 'little', even if it was only an endearment; and a fairly accurate one at that. "That you do. Plus the pay for my contracts; you haven't paid me for them yet," I nodded.  
"Hm, yes: wait here and I'll fetch the coin; no, really, your offer is unnecessary," he replied dryly, ignoring the fact that I hadn't even been given a chance to speak. He stood and headed up the stairs to his chest. I sighed happily.  
"So; you're the Listener, Alysa," Festus said, glancing at me before he tasted whatever he was cooking. He scrunched his face, smacking his lips. "No, no: that won't do… now, where did I put that…?" he thought aloud, and I smiled. Watching Festus cook, craft spells – despite how much magic freaked me out – or make the odd potion was always entertaining. I doubted he could do it quietly, and certainly not even in silence.  
"Yes, Festus: I am the new Listener," I replied. I had been Listener for just over seven months: it suddenly got me thinking – the Night Mother had been silent until she mentioned Cicero briefly this morning, and then she had stilled. Surely there were hundreds of outstanding contracts across Tamriel? Or, was she just giving preference to this specific one? I shook my head in thought. "…Alysa?" Festus asked.  
"What? I didn't get that," I replied, looking at the old Breton assassin.  
He frowned at me, grumbling something to himself before speaking louder, a scowl faintly etched over his face. "Have you heard the Night Mother speak? What was her voice like?"

I think he saw I was struggling to find the words to describe the Night Mother's voice. I just nodded, and Nazir came down the stairs again, a large, fat coinpurse in hand. I mulled over the right words to use to explain the cold terror I had felt the first time I heard our matron speak, and the cold, calculating calm the second time around. It was enthralling, addictive…. "Well, little Ice-Wrath –" I growled at Nazir, and he chuckled unfazed. "– Here is you pay, one hundred gold per target – so three hundred as you took three contracts – and the extra hundred for beating me last night," he handed me the purse. I loved the weighted feel of gold in my hands, especially after a contract well-done. And the bonus of beating Nazir – that was a feat well-done, despite my new no-repeat policy: I would have liked to try it again. "Good doing business with you," I said, holding the coinpurse in my hands. I shifted to sit down on the bench instead of the arm, Nazir next to me. "So, you and Festus over there were talking about the Night Mother and you being the legendary 'Listener'…." Nazir was good at prompting information.  
I took his bait, and nodded. "Festus just asked me what it was like to hear her voice. I can't say that I can really describe it: it was terrifying the first time, and the second time just cleared my head. I felt like I was only made for killing in that moment…." I let my thoughts wander over the training today. I felt both of my elder brothers' incredulous eyes on me.  
"Yes," I snapped. "It was terrifying the first time. I've never experienced anything like it before, and Sithis and the Night Mother know I'll make damned well sure I  _never_  have to experience that kind of terror ever again." I glared at both of them in turn.

Festus gave me that look I had come to recognize as the one he wore when considering using magic on another member. I narrowed my eyes at him, about to make his choice about magic for him when Gabriella glided in. "Ah, yes: I can imagine the Night Mother's voice must be cold, and full of an ancient, fear-inspiring quality… I almost wish I was you, just to be able to hear her," she said dreamily. The dark elf swayed a little, and I wondered for the millionth time if she had a secret Skooma stash no-one knew about, or if her arcane skills made her this way. Then I suddenly remembered Babette had drunk some of her blood.  _That would make her tired, not dreamy,_  I thought, looking her over. She smiled under her hood, 'hmm'-ed and headed up the stairs without another word. Festus, Nazir and I stared after her with a collective snort. Even the old Breton managed a brief chuckle.

Aventus swung into the room, almost crashing into my bench. He looked breathless from excitement, with a new glass war axe in his belt. I rolled my eyes. "Who let you into the armory?"  
"Arnbjorn let me choose any weapon, as many as I liked, and this one; it's, it's just so…" he trailed off, pulling it out of his belt and admired it. Nazir and I exchanged a glance. Aventus's bubbly personality meant he was going to rave about it for at least a week. I suddenly realized I would be the only outlet for that week. "Good luck, Alysa. Try not to come back with the axe only," Nazir laughed. The joke was entirely missed by the young Imperial. His loss, my gain!

 

* * * * * * *

 

The rest of the Family trickled in, short of Babette, Gabriella and Veezara. Even Astrid an Arnbjorn decided to grace us with their presence. I could feel Nazir give me a strange look, noticing the shadow that fell over my face. Cicero's loud appearance a few moments after dinner was served cheered me up a little – at least it wasn't  _so_  bad anymore. Astrid started talking about the contract from Amaund, planning a series of spy operations across the country. No-one said anything, but the odd glance kept coming my way. I was sure Cicero was about to correct Astrid when Veezara walked in. "You! Where've you been?" I asked, turning in my seat to look at my favorite Shadowscale.  
He held up a few quails and two rabbits. "Hunting. They were quite easy to trap, really," he said.  
Nazir and Festus had their first showdown. "You're not spoiling those perfectly delectable creatures, Festus! This  _gump_  you call 'food' would waste the tender meat on those quails and rabbits!"  
Festus went a shade of red. "You dare insult my superior cooking?! Bah, you can barely spice the meat without burning down the Sanctuary! I –"

I tuned them out. They'd be at it for a while still. Aventus was next to me, and watched them intently before grinning and turning to Cicero, who sat across from him. Veezara put his catch on another table to deal with a bit later. "So, Chickpea –"  
" _Cicero_  doesn't like being called that," the Keeper warned, not looking at his younger kinsman. This was going to be very interesting after all. If only the two chefs would shut up…. But Aventus kept insisting on using 'Chickpea'. I briefly considered telling him to stop it, but I closed my mouth. I could almost  _see_  the smoke coming out of Cicero's ears, and I wasn't about to waste an opportunity that could teach Aventus a little something.

I smirked.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Chickpea…  _Chickpea_ …  _CHICKPEA?!_  Oh, sweet Mother, who does he think he is?! "Ok, well…" Aventus said to Cicero. Calling the Keeper 'Chickpea'… Cicero remembers the last one who called him 'Chickpea' – Cicero poisoned him – paralyzed him – and skinned him alive! Cicero grins at the memory. Hehehe, oh, it was funny! Do you remember, sweet Mother, loving Mother? Of course you do! That's how you told the old Listener to tell the old Speakers to find Cicero! So grateful he is, oh Night Mother!

"What are you grinning about?" the boy asked.  
"Cicero? What  _this_  Cicero grinning about?" Alysa was watching, her eyes shining. Oh, such pretty eyes… such pretty-pretty blue-gray eyes…. She looked like she was expecting trouble. Cicero wondered if she wanted to tell the boy to be quiet.  
"Yep, Chickpea. What are you grinning about, Chickpea –"  
Cicero snarled, punching Aventus. "Cicero told the boy he  _doesn't like being called CHICKPEA!_ "

Alysa was cackling darkly. Nazir and the wonderful old Breton Festus stopped arguing, and the Redguard even seemed a little amused, but it was hard for Cicero to tell. It was just the boy's cheek, but really, he should have  _some_  respect in the Family. He was rubbing his cheek, and Cicero sat down again. Astrid the pretender just looked on wide-eyed, so did her lapdog. Horrid, mean old wolf…. Cicero  _still_  doesn't like them. Cicero frowned at his plate. "Now Cicero doesn't feel like eating, and this is the  _best_  food since humble Cicero has arrived! Cicero is so very grateful to have such a master chef to prepare food for him and the Family! Much better than Nazir…" Cicero frowned at Nazir after all his grinning. He really  _did_  like the wizard's food best. It was just better, like magic! Oh, oh! Magic food from a magic man! Cicero giggled. "Magic food from a magic man!"

Festus had to smile: Cicero saw that! He did, he did, he did! Cicero saw the smile! "Well, I do try…" Festus admitted, looking smugly at Nazir. So sarcastic, but Cicero thinks he might have liked Nazir, if he wasn't so sarcastic. But  _I_  will never know! "Hey, he punched me!" the boy exclaimed.  
Alysa sniggered, leaning close to Aventus over the table. Cicero wasn't jealous, no, not at all… not even a  _little_  bit…. "Welcome to the Family!"

The table broke into laughter, and Cicero saw Alysa had water in her tankard after her third mead. He raised his brows at it when she looked his way. The Listener rolled her eyes at sweet Cicero. Oh, Night Mother, Cicero  _does_  like the Listener so much…. The pretender and her lapdog left as soon as  _their_  dinner was finished, and Veezara brought out cards, and the table played for a while, eventually gambling later on.

Festus left when the gambling started, and Babette was working at her lab – I saw her come in looking for ingredients that she didn't have there. She watched the round end, then went back to making potions. Cicero smelled some awful smells, sweet Mother. Alysa was a fair player, but after she won twice in a row, Cicero wondered briefly if she was cheating. She even winked at Cicero! Now he was sure she wasn't playing fair… but she also said Goodnight at the third round of gambling.

Now Cicero was winning! Oh, he  _loved_  taking from Nazir and Aventus! Cicero was giggling and cackling the whole time, and he told jokes, too! Even the one with the horker's husband! Hehehe, Cicero likes that one… but he knows his limits. Cicero must leave to stay with the Night Mother, and he was glad the Argonian and Redguard were beating little Aventus at cards once he left. So long as he knew his place in the Family, and didn't call dear Cicero 'Chickpea' again, he'd be fine, just fine, don't you think, beloved Mother?


	13. To the Rift and the Ratway

**Chapter 13: To the Rift and the Ratway**

"So you're leaving  _again_ , dear Listener?" Cicero asked – well, maybe he  _whined_. He couldn't believe it – barely two days and she was leaving again! Cicero pouted when she nodded. "Sweet sister, dear Listener, can't someone  _else_  go?"  
"No, Cicero: everyone else is busy, and the thieves will eat Aventus alive before he could ask which way was up," she folded the last of her things into a pack.  
"Cicero admits, that would be funny," he smiles, "but really, what if they eat  _you_ , and Cicero  _never_  sees the Listener  _again?_ "  
The Listener sighed. "Cicero, they'll really need a lot of help if they want to try and eat me – I promise you, I will come back. It's little more than a month-long journey there and back; I'll be back soon, and then for at  _least_  another month, considering what Astrid has heard about the wedding, and they're still  _planning_  it, so probably longer." She turned to face Cicero at the foot of her bed, smirking coyly. "But I'll miss you too, Fool of Hearts."

Cicero's heart stopped. She would miss him?! The great and mighty Listener, his sister Alysa, would  _miss_   _him?_  Cicero grinned, bouncing on his feet and gave Alysa a bear hug! Well, Cicero supposes it was a  _Cicero_  hug, since a  _Cicero_  was giving it. "Uhm…" she breathed, tense and stiff like a plank of wood! Terrible terrible, really….  
"It's rude not to hug back, mighty Listener," Cicero whispered into her ear. The Listener sighed, and slowly put her arms around Cicero. She was warm and soft, if not all that womanly like so many others Cicero had seen – they were just  _too_ big. But this Listener, this Alysa, was perfect for sweet, humble Cicero.  
"Uhm, let go now, Cicero," Alysa said. Cicero heaved a sigh. "If anything goes wrong, I'll still have Aventus too look out for me," she said, turning back to her pack very quickly when I let go. Cicero didn't know what words to say, so his mouth made them all, fisting his hands.  _Aventus_? That little boy? Cicero doubts he could save himself from a twig…. "Cicero doesn't trust the new boy… but very well.  _OH!_  I have something for the Listener! Wait for me! He'll bring it quickly!" How could Cicero forget, sweet Mother? He had asked the un-child to make those special ice poisons for Alysa, like that one she had used on the bard! Cicero giggles as he skips into his chambers.

He wishes he could have seen that! Ha ha ha! He he he! Oh, so  _funny_!  _So_  funny! "There!" he quickly grabbed the small wooden six-pack box and cradled it in his arms, all the way back to his glorious, powerful Listener! Oh, the Listener… such an honor! Such an honor! Not that Cicero isn't honored to be Keeper, oh Night Mother! Heh…. "Here!" Cicero exclaims when he returns to Alysa sitting on her bed. He holds the box out to his Listener. "Cicero asked the un-child to make these especially for you – the same ones you used on the bard! Cicero hopes you like them…" Cicero watched her face light up, standing and taking the box. She looked at them, and then at Cicero, once more, twice more. She seemed a little awestruck to Cicero, really.

"Cicero, I…" she trailed, her eyes shining happily.  
"Hey, Alysa! We're gonna be late!" Aventus called from somewhere else in the Sanctuary. Cicero frowned, and Alysa quickly made space for the poison in her pack, tying it off and hefting it onto her fine shoulders. Cicero marvelled at her belying appearance. She looked indecisive to Cicero, fiddling with the straps over her shoulders. Cicero cocked his head to one side.

Then she surprised Cicero: she stepped forwards, cupped Cicero's right cheek and lightly kissed his left. Cicero could have sworn she was blushing when she quickly strode away. Cicero felt that silly, big grin grow! Oh, sweet Night Mother! Hail Sithis! Cicero giggled, and danced! "Yes! Oh, yes! Bless the Listener, Night Mother! Bless her, Sithis!" Cicero called, skipping after Alysa. Cicero was sure she felt the same about him as he felt about her. Pity he couldn't go with to Riften…. But he waved goodbye, and he could see the same silly, big grin trying to come out on his dear Listener's face when she turned to leave with the boy.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I'd never felt so nervous in my life. What had I been thinking?! Kissing Cicero on the cheek… I felt a grin spread on my face despite myself, enjoying the cool, crisp air of Skyrim as I tried vainly to calm my racing heart. I walked a little straighter; my pack weighed down a little more by the bottles of poison Cicero had asked Babette to make me. I felt light, happy – and I giggled as I looked up at the sky.  
Aventus gave me a strange look. "And now?" he asked.  
I glanced at him. "None of your business. But if you haven't guessed, I'm feeling particularly happy. So shut up, and let me enjoy myself."

I walked a little faster to Falkreath, eager to move past the town. I had told Aventus to bring his Stormcloak armor with him after briefly re-explaining our long-standing feud with the Penitus Oculatus agents. He had pursed his lips about it, but agreed nonetheless. I had packed my plain leather armor, too. And we were walking. It put a slight dampener on my mood, really… it would be anywhere between little over three weeks and a month on the road, and that was assuming things went well. I supposed I  _should_  buy passage to at least one of the smaller villages to speed things up.

Falkreath came into view, and Aventus whistled softly next to me. I raised a brow at him. "Never seen the place before?"  
He shook his head. "Never seen the graveyard…" he nodded in its direction. I pursed my lips and quickly dipped my head – a small edge of the graveyard was visible from our route, and it was still massive. "Is it really as big as they say it is?"  
"It's bigger when you start walking through it," I replied, shifting my pack. My bow and quiver hung on my hip, and my hair was braided a-la-Babette. Gabriella hadn't been particularly chatty after her dreamy state from the night before. I thought of the amulet I was wearing under my armor, and how much it would be worth… I hoped more than five-thousand, at the very least. But, only Delvin would know.

A few people in town spared Aventus and me a few wary glances as we headed through the other side. My companion grumbled next to me, but I wasn't about to waste time for comfort. I didn't know all that much about the Ratway, but I knew enough to know we could probably find lodging there – thieves lived down there, after all.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I had initially planned on taking the scenic route along the roads, but decided cutting across the country would be much faster after it became apparent we wouldn't get a cart to take us. At least this way, it would help me judge Aventus's abilities and skills better. I had some interesting games planned out for him… I smirked. This would be fun. I knew a few mountain passes that would give us enough freedom to deviate, but were restricting enough that Aventus couldn't get lost. Unless he was some sort of idiot, really. Though I doubted that, and he  _should_  have some basic wilderness skills from his time with the Stormcloaks, so I'd start him off based on that.

Over the next two weeks in the mountains, Aventus had quickly learned about staying warm. Being a Nord, it didn't bother me as much, but it was still chilly at times, especially when I got wet for whatever reason. I sent him off on hunting trips most of the time, then followed a short while after he was gone to see how aware he was of his surroundings.  
The first three times, I could have snapped a branch and he wouldn't have noticed. He didn't even realize I had left the camp. So I started making him aware of the little things, and had him meditate at times just to listen. An assassin who couldn't sense change was a dead assassin. After that, his hunting trips were a little more cautious, a little more aware of his surroundings. He caught his prey faster, but struggled to notice me at times.

Eventually, we spent most of our traveling days playing this game, and I finally decided to test out what Aventus thought he knew. So I switched our positions – I would lead, he would follow. At least twice a day I'd shake him, circle back and he would end up with my daggers at his neck. It was pitiful, really. But he quickly learnt to ask questions and discuss strategies, and he slowly got better. By the time we passed the Ruins of Bthalft, he could just parry my attack. So we switched again, and our travels were considerably shortened as we tried to shake the other.

I often succeeded in losing him through the night, and Aventus had an easier time tracking when the trail was almost cold. We followed the road when we came across it, and little over a week later we arrived at the western gate of Riften. A small coinpurse bought us anonymity and passage into the city, and the smell of the river was stronger, worse than outside. A small market was set up in the center of the town, and we headed over for information. I had no doubt the guards could provide me with the whereabouts of the Ratway, but I wasn't particularly interested in raising suspicions. Aventus had a scowl on his face.

"Fond memories of Honorhall, hey?" I asked offhandedly, and Aventus snorted in reply.  
"Only the time you showed up to kill Grelod and when you came to tell me she was dead."  
I grinned, but he looked a little wistful, as if he had made friends in the orphanage that he had lost touch with. "Do you know where the Ratway is?"  
"The Ratway?" my companion asked, shocked.  
I nodded curtly. "We need to get inside. Do you know where it is?"  
He shook his head. "Sorry, no: I just know the Thieves Guild is there. I didn't hear all that much about it as a kid."  
"Hmm."

I had counted on it being common knowledge, and I didn't want to ask a random stranger or a guard in case we raised suspicions. I walked over to the stalls, my cowl and hood around my neck like a black and red scarf, a cloak covering my armor. Aventus was dressed similarly, except his cloak was warmer than mine. "Buy us a room at the Bee and Barb for three days, I'll start looking so long," I said softly, handing him my pack and sauntered towards beggars. I knelt beside a woman. "The Ratway," I said, putting a handful of coins into her hands.

The filthy old woman widened her eyes, quickly snatching the coins away. "Come," she said, standing surprisingly quickly and leading me down a flight of stairs to the river, across a makeshift walkway to a door. "I' the'e," she said pointing, then scurried away. I looked around, making sure I had the route memorized as I went back up to the main city. It was almost twilight, and too late for a run-in with thieves – they weren't a particularly diplomatic bunch, like us assassins. We'd head down in the morning.

I found Aventus in the common room, and told him what I knew. He nodded, and we had a hearty meal that the Argonian proprietors cooked up. I narrowed my eyes when a well-dressed, wealthy-looking girl around Aventus's age walked in, and a look of wondrous recognition crossed his face. As he made to stand, I put a hand over his arm. He frowned at me. "Be careful of what you say to whom; one slip up to the wrong person is a betrayal, and betrayal only happens once per member…" I purred lowly, enjoying the expression he wore when he realized what I insinuated. He followed her with his eyes as she just glided by with the grace of an aristocrat, to embrace a man who looked to be her lover. Aventus fell into his chair again, his shoulders sagging a little. "I used to know her," he murmured wistfully, turning back to me, and stared at the half-eaten plate of food. I just nodded. Emotions and dealing with them were new to me; I wasn't the right person to hand out advice. And besides, once you became an assassin there is suddenly a long list of people you used to know.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Cicero sighed, chin in hand as he sat at his table. It was lonely without the Mighty Listener! A grin creeps over his face. Ooh-hoo-hoo! The Listener had  _kissed_  Cicero! On the  _cheek!_  And Cicero was sure she had blushed… Cicero giggled, jumping up and skipping to Mother. "Oh, Mother! 'Tis a wonderful day! Lonely, yes, but Cicero has memories to  _make_  the day wonderful! Oh, sweet Night Mother, Unholy Matron, how  _IS_  your Listener? Is she well? In Riften? Perhaps on her way back already? But no, it's too soon for that… so Cicero wonders. But I know  _you_  know! And I  _know_  you will look after your Listener, won't you, Mother? Cicero hopes so! Cicero  _knows_  so, he he," Cicero stopped, almost waiting for the Night Mother to speak. But she didn't. Not to me, anyway!

Cicero wonders what she sounds like… he'll have to ask Alysa! Alysa will tell him! Oh, he misses that pretty little Nord… Cicero wonders what she's doing, if that horrid Imperial Aventus was trying to court her…. Maybe I should have  _another_  talk with the boy when they returned. Make sure he  _understands_  his place in the Family. Cicero sighed heavily. Maybe he should train, keep fit and get his mind of the new blood. Cicero took his ebony dagger, locked the Night Mother and his chambers, and made his way to the training area. Humble Cicero wishes Alysa was already home…. I watched Festus cast spells at the dummies, setting them on fire, electrocuting them, freezing them… Cicero had always found magic interesting, but he could really only cast a basic healing spell and some Destruction magic: a very simple fireball, and one called Sparks, but Cicero had forgotten how to do the last one…. He should ask Festus about that one again. But after he trained.

Cicero settled into his fight easily, remembering how quickly he had to learn to protect his many Families from the Penitus Oculatus… Cicero snarled at the thought of those  _dogs!_  He fought harder, faster with the air. Finally he stopped. Someone clapped. "Impressive, Keeper. Perhaps you would like something to fight against?"  
I turned to see Festus still in the training area. Cicero nodded quickly, breathing deeply. It's been a while since he's trained like this. Cicero is enjoying it. "Wait a moment, though, for dear Cicero," Cicero said, quickly pulling off his cap and shirt: he doesn't want to be too hot, and he doesn't want a  _burned_  jester's cap. Not at all – after all, what's a jester without a cap? I nod at Festus, almost expecting the wondrous wizard to take up a blade. But Cicero knew he wouldn't. A Flame Atronach appeared, crackling and hovering next to Festus, glowing warmly. "Go," Festus commanded, and Cicero braced himself for a proper fight. Flame Atronachs  _are_  difficult to kill, after all.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Aventus had spent most of the night asking all sorts of questions about the Dark Brotherhood, kills and strategies, signatures and trying to find tips on how to get better. At least he was trying to learn. By midnight I could tell he was worn out, though - and I ordered him to sleep, and lay down in my own bed, on my back for a change.

He was sleeping on the floor, since he hadn't bothered to ask for a room with two beds. After a few moments of blank peacefulness, I thought about the Sanctuary and Cicero. I found myself rubbing my chest. My heart ached for something, and every time I thought of Cicero, it would pang a little less for a few seconds before it remembered he wasn't here. I closed my eyes and sent a silent prayer to the Night Mother to keep Cicero safe, and to bless that Fool of Hearts.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I stretched out at a little before dawn, uncomfortable on my back. I felt exposed.

I padded past a still-sleeping Aventus to wash up and prepare for the day ahead. Thieves and assassins never got along very well. I smirked at the thought, strapping my Dark Brotherhood armor into place, and threw my cloak over it. I headed back to my shared room, and toed Aventus. "Wake up. Things to do, places to go," I said, watching as he sighed and slowly rolled upright, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He frowned at me when he met my disapproving gaze and I finally stopped nudging him in the side. "You should be dead five times over," I explained.  
"But we're in an  _inn_ , for the love of Sithis!" he complained.  
"Doesn't mean you're safe. If you're not at home, you're a target for the Oculatus agents. And even so, they've managed to find many of our Sanctuaries. The others have been closed to keep the Families together, remember?" I shot back, tossing his armor at him. "Go… do what you do in the morning, and meet me in the common room for breakfast. And be quick, Aventus. I'm not sure how long we'll be down there." I turned on heel after strapping on my daggers to my thighs, my quiver and bow along with three frost poisons to my belt and covered it all with my cloak. I ordered food for both of us, and eventually settled for a tankard of ale when Aventus flew down the stairs, stopping for just long enough to let his own cloak cover him as he sat down opposite me.

"What's the plan?"  
"I have no idea what's waiting for us down there, so we go in assuming it's crawling with things that want to kill us. Then we make our way to wherever the thieves are and find Delvin Mallory," I said, stirring my stiff, white porridge to soften it.  
"Then we talk to him about whatever Astrid gave you?" my brother asked softly.  
"Yes. Hopefully he can help."  
Aventus just nodded. I didn't want to explain about the amulet Amaund had given me, in case someone overheard and understood what was going on was actually about an assassination. There was simply too much at stake, for both me and Aventus, as well as the Brotherhood. We finished quickly, leaving a few coins on the table as we headed out, all of Riften covered in a deep crimson and orange glow. It was beautiful, really.

I led Aventus down the way the beggar had shown me, and at the door we stopped. He tried it both ways. "It's locked," he stated, as if he was entirely confounded by the idea.  
"So  _pick_  the lock," I said.  
Aventus looked at me blankly. "I don't know how."  
I rolled my eyes, pulling out my picks and nimbly unlocking the door. "You'd better learn…" I said, stowing my picks and opening the door.

I took my bow in hand, notching an arrow as I dropped a little, silently moving along the passage. Aventus followed behind me. "Close the door," I breathed, my voice echoing softly off the walls. A soft click confirmed my command, and Aventus slid his axe out of his belt.  _An axe is a stupid weapon for an assassin,_  I thought, sneaking down the stairs. Voices met my ears. I touched my frost poisons. Babette had redesigned the bottles so that we assassins could easily dip arrowheads and dagger tips without wasting, and so that we didn't need to untie it from our belts. I loosed the lid, cringing at the soft 'pop'. I dipped two arrowheads in the poison, holding one in my bow hand as I stalked my prey. I drew my bow as a Bosmer woman came into view. Her eyes widened in surprise, and before she could utter a syllable my arrow caught her in the throat. She gurgled, and I could see the poison freeze her. I fired the second into her heart, and she fell. Her companion appeared a moment after her body fell. Aventus took the lead, running last me, a feral snarl on his face.

He smashed the other elf's bow and half-notched arrow, and with a short cry slammed his axe into the elf's shoulder, then skull. I wrinkled my nose at the sound. I didn't like it: so unclean and barbaric. But, they were dead, and we weren't. In the meantime, I had replaced the poison's lid. The seal was broken, so it wasn't as properly closed as it should have been, but it would do. I pulled another two arrows, carrying them in hand. I nodded at Aventus when he crouched and looked at me. "Good work."  
He grinned at my compliment, and I took the lead again, following the passages and cutting our way through until finally we came to a section with a lever for the drawbridge.

I pulled it, and it lowered with a satisfying thud. I grinned under my cowl, and silently ran across. We came to a room with a table, and a few odds and ends on it. A door with a haphazard carving of 'Ragged Flagon' was at the opposite end. I presumed this was the go-to for thieves. Aventus and I headed in after stowing our weapons. Let the negotiations begin.


	14. Negotiations are Best Left to Assassins and Thieves. Especially Assassins

**Chapter 14: Negotiations are Best Left to Assassins and Thieves. Especially Assassins**

" _Stand still, Keeper!_ " the un-child hissed, grabbing poor Cicero by the ribs. Well, not his actual  _ribs_ , Cicero thinks that would hurt, but – well, Cicero thinks you understand, sweet Mother?  
"Oww…" Cicero whines. Cicero had been fighting with wondrous Festus's Atronachs and summoned creatures for the past month, and the Frost Atronach Cicero had just been fighting had frozen his left side, and left a bad burn… oh, sweet Mother it hurts! Cicero hadn't expected it to move so quickly… Cicero was just out of practice! Oh– "Babette!" he exclaimed, flinching when the un-child poked his side.  
"You have a few broken ribs. Festus, do you know any healing magic?"  
The old Breton blinked at Babette. "Not much, but enough. Sit, young pup. Old Festus will see what he can do while the little one makes a potion…"  
Cicero sighed, watching Babette whizz around her alchemy lab making a potion for Cicero. Such a fool: he  _could_  have won! He could! "He he he, that tickles," Cicero giggles; the Restoration magic the wonderful wizard was using itched and tickled Cicero. Wonderfully horrid feeling, horridly wonderful! It lasted a few minutes, and Cicero couldn't help but wriggle now and again. It was itchy! Ticklish! "Hm, that's the best I can do. You'll still have to be careful, your ribs aren't healed properly, and the burn is just a little bit less," Festus said, standing and going Snap! Crack! Pop! in all his joints. Cicero thinks he doesn't  _quite_  want to get  _that_  old… and Cicero is now thirty-five…. Cicero breathed deeply, feeling what dear Festus meant. Not quite right yet, but better. "I only hope our Listener won't have a fit when she hears about this," Festus said, ending with a half-chuckle. Cicero grins a silly grin, his cheeks warming. The Listener doesn't  _need_  to know…. He put his shirt back on, and his cap as well. What is the Fool of Hearts without his cap?  
"Hm, and  _she_  insists nothing happened…" the un-child murmured, grinning. Cicero tried to glare, really he did. But he couldn't. So he just shook his head, wondering what exactly the un-child was talking about. Did something happen Cicero didn't know about? Cicero doesn't think so…. "Here, drink this. It'll help for now. I'll need a few more days to make a stronger one that will heal all the damage, so take it easy and wait."  
Cicero took the potion. "Thank you, sweet sister, dear brother."  
"Right then, I'll be off. Nazir gave me a contract in Haafingar yesterday already, so I should be off. Sithis and the Night Mother keep you, young pups," Festus grumbled, quickly walking away. Cicero thinks he's warming up a little. The un-child was still staring at dear Cicero. "Sweet sister –"

"Drink."

Cicero decided it was better not to argue with a vampire, even if she was so little. Cicero felt much better already. The un-child nodded, turning to her lab and started putting ingredients together. Cicero put the bottle on the table and stood slowly, still a bit sore. "Mother needs tending…" Cicero mutters, boringly walking back to his and Mother's chambers. Not that Cicero is  _bored_  with  _you_ , Mother! Never! Cicero could  _NEVER_  be bored with you! But Cicero finds walking so boring: not like running, or skipping or dancing… now  _those_  are all much more interesting…. Yes, they are. Ooh, the stairs are the worst, sweet Night Mother… Cicero can  _really_  feel he isn't right when he walks up them. Very uncomfortable. Cicero frowns. He wishes Alysa was home again already, and away from that horrid other Imperial… Cicero supposes he shouldn't hate his brother so much; after all, Cicero and Aventus  _are_  brothers now, and of the same race, but still: Cicero doesn't like that Aventus  _likes_  the Listener… but Cicero must take comfort in knowing his brother is younger than his honorable Listener, and that she isn't interested in him…. Cicero walks into his chambers, closing the door behind him. "Hmm… Cicero thinks Mother needs flowers…" Cicero looks for a vase – it must be a pretty one – but he doesn't see any that are worthy of Mother's presence. "Cicero will have to find a way to buy some," he says, wondering which one would be best for Mother. "But Cicero will  _definitely_  bring Mother some nightshade… yes, Cicero will quickly pick some for you, my dear, Unholy Matron!"

 

* * * * * * *

 

Aventus and I finally made our way closer to the Ragged Flagon. I was grateful for the shadows in this den: the five or six people in the small, fire-lit area hadn't seen us yet. It was surprisingly clean, all things considered. Although, I'd never had to deal with thieves before so it was an interesting experience. I stopped Aventus when he started moving past me. "Let me do the talking; you listen and learn, and back me up if something goes wrong." He seemed a little upset, but nodded. "And keep your hood and cowl up," I added, stalking closer. It suddenly occurred to me that I didn't know what Delvin looked like. I stopped before the circle of light began and listened, watching who spoke. A volley of insults came from a woman called Vex, and a few pathetic attempts at flirting from an older Breton. "Delvin, only with you in your  _grave_  and me  _standing over it!_ " Vex shouted, storming off to a different part of the den. The Breton sighed, sitting down at a table half-hidden in shadow and called over a man to bring him a tankard of beer, then the man returned to the bar. I strode into the cordoned-off are, silently making my way to the table where Delvin sat. I planted myself across from him in the shadows, Aventus close behind me, a silhouette in the dark. Pity he wasn't as skilled as I am yet: the second he moved the world could still hear him. "Ah, now  _you_  must be lost. Best ya scurry off while you're able. The Ratway… well, it has a habit of swallowin' up the  _uninvited_ ," Delvin finished, chuckling. He hadn't even bothered to look at me.  
I leaned forwards just a little, my movement catching his eye, my cowl just visible in the half-light. "The Dark Brotherhood requires your services, Delvin."  
He blinked twice. "Oh. Oh I  _see…_ " he trailed, leaning forwards as well, a glint in his eyes. "Well now, how is Astrid doin' these days, uh? Tell her to stop by some time. We can have a drink. Catch up." He stopped when he caught my cold look. "Ah, but we can discuss that later, yeah? What does the Brotherhood need?"  
I unclasped the amulet, pulling it out of my armor and put it on the table. "What can you tell me about this?"  
"Let's see…." Delvin picked it up, holding it in the light. His eyes widened, and he let out a low whistle. I frowned under my cowl. "Where- _oh-where_  did you get this? Don't answer – I don't want to know," he said when my brows drew closer together. "This is an amulet of the Emperor's Elder Council. Specially crafted for each member. Worth a small fortune. Ain't somethin' you'd give up lightly." He stared at it a while longer, admiring the many faceted gems in all colors on its surface. His voice was soft when he spoke next. "Look, it ain't my business ta tell the Dark Brotherhood  _its_  business, but if you killed a member of the Elder Council, you'd better belie–"  
He was cut short when Aventus moved, hand on his axe, almost ready to whip it out. "You're right; it  _is_  none of your business. Will you buy it?" I interrupted, my voice icy.  
Delvin narrowed his eyes, looking at the amulet again. "Buy it?" he repeated. "This? An  _Elder Council_  amulet? Oh yes. Oh yes, indeed!" he chuckled darkly, placing it on the table as he made to stand. "Wait just one moment…."  
I watched the Breton head over to a cupboard and grab ink, a quill, parchment and wax with some kind of stamp. He returned and quickly wrote out the letter of credit Astrid had told me about, heating the wax over a flame while he wrote. He was about to fold the letter when I stopped him, taking the parchment and reading it.  _Fifteen thousand septims… not bad._  I handed the letter back and nodded my go-ahead and he sealed it. "Here. It's a letter of credit as you've seen. Usable, by Astrid only, for any service or item I can provide. As per our standard arrangement. You bring that back to your lovely mistress. With my regards," Delvin finished, holding out the sealed letter to me.  
I dipped my head quickly. "A pleasure doing business with you." As I stood, I glanced at the seal. A shadowmark denoting the Thieves Guild adorned the dark grey wax. Aventus and I left the Ragged Flagon and the Ratway. It would probably be midday when we got out, so we would have a quick lunch before heading out. I still wanted to buy another horse for myself.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I spat blood outside the Riften stables, glaring icily at the owner. Even Aventus looked a little warier of me.  _Good. I'm sick of his puppy love,_  I thought scathingly, snarling at the man moaning on the ground in front of me, the stableboy cowering behind a barrel. The horses were a little spooked: I could hear their restless movements. "Your horses are pathetically underfed and scraggly and you want  _A THOUSAND GOLD FOR ONE?!_ " I shouted, glaring down at him as he tried to stare at me. I snorted. "All of them together aren't even worth four hundred! And then you  _insist_  on a brawl over your non-existent  _honor?!_ " I hissed, gesturing at the boy. "Saddle up the two best horses you have, or Sithis help you…." He nodded hurriedly, and scurried away to tack them up. I grudgingly called upon my meagre store of magicka, and used the basic healing spell I knew to heal the damage I had taken, remembering what Festus had told be about directing it to the places that needed it most. My gums hurt and itched as my teeth settled into them again, and I could feel the worst of the bruises become a little less swollen and colorful. I stepped closer, kneeling by the man when the boy returned. "But, because I am a generous and considerate person, I will not report your assault on my person to the guards." I stood, taking the reins of an intelligent-looking white and gentle-looking palomino, leading them to Aventus. I nodded at the horses. He quickly got onto the white, and I mounted the palomino. "Here's five hundred," I muttered angrily, tossing a coinpurse at the still-groaning stable owner trying to get to his knees, pushing my new steed to a canter. I grinned wryly, pulling up my cowl and hood: I had managed to get two for the price of half. I couldn't wait to get home.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Babette's potion had Cicero right and ready again very soon! Cicero actually feels much better than before that Frost Atronach took him, but Cicero can't really be sure. Festus had left little over a week ago, and Cicero was wondering when Alysa would be back: he hoped it was soon, very soon. But, Cicero had spent his days training, or looking after Mother – he had bought her special vases and all the different poisonous flowers and plants were all around her coffin, Cicero thought it looked proper, just as it should have been! – and sometimes Cicero went out to practice by himself in the woods. A major road was just above and behind the Sanctuary, and several times Cicero thought he heard – and saw, too – people and carts and horses and things travel along that way. But Cicero wasn't too sure – he couldn't go look, and after all, Cicero  _is_  crazy… he he he. But Cicero enjoyed the time outside – he remembered what it was like to hunt, and stalk, and tease and taunt his prey… oh, how Cicero had enjoyed it. But he had given it all up for the Night Mother, and Cicero would do it again! He would! But sometimes Cicero wishes it was someone else who was Keeper, someone else who had to stay behind and hear the tales…. But Cicero is the Keeper, and he will keep until the next one is chosen. Cicero can only hope that the Family will grow, and soon. And that less and less brothers like Aventus will come. Or more, but ones not so interested in the mighty Listener. Cicero suddenly finds himself in the city of Falkreath, and Cicero decides to head to the inn for a quick break before he heads back to the Sanctuary. Maybe he can earn some more septims for the  _other_  place while he's here….

 

* * * * * * *

 

It was very busy in the inn tonight, sweet Mother: Cicero marvels that fewer people end up killing each other. He giggles, and smiles when the crowd notices the Fool of Hearts from a few months ago. Or was it many months ago? Cicero forgets, or doesn't bother to remember. Cicero isn't very concerned with time. Except where dear, beloved, mighty Listener Alysa is concerned… then Cicero is aware of  _every second._  Cicero did some performances for the good, ignorant people of Falkreath, and two hours or so before dusk, an Altmer mage and his Nordic companion came in. Horrid scars on  _his_  face, and the woman was older – Cicero guesses she is at least ten years older than Cicero. Cicero wonders, are they lovers? It must be strange, sweet Mother, to see one stay young while the other grows old…. "Dragonborn!" someone called, and the Altmer turned.  
"Ahhhhh!  _Now_  Cicero knows who he is! And he knows Cicero's dear L-one," Cicero nods, grinning. He watches the crowd turn and ooh-and-ahh and Cicero puts his full cap on, and pickpocketed the jarl's housecarl.  _Oh, idiot to carry so much gold! Pity Cicero can't kill you now… such a pity…_  Cicero pouts, but moves into the crowd. He wants to go home now. The innkeeper even let Cicero have his mead for free! Oh, you have blessed humble Cicero, sweet Night Mother, Unholy Matron! Cicero slips out, and skips home. To the Sanctuary and the Night Mother!

 

* * * * * * *

 

Night had just fallen over Falkreath when Aventus and I arrived. We headed to Dead Man's Drink, and left out horses in the stable. I thought I recognized two horses: a white and flint pair. I was also quite sure I saw red hair flash behind the flint horse. I brushed the thought aside, tugging at my plain leather armor, and glancing at Aventus in his Stormcloak armor. He looked as uncomfortable as I felt. We headed into the inn. It was packed to bursting. I shouldered and elbowed my way to the counter, Aventus in tow. "One room, two beds," I called over the noise at the innkeep. He checked his books, then shook his head. "Sold the last to another patron. I have a room with one bed, though," he offered.  
I nodded curtly. "I'll take it."  
"You'll take what?" Aventus shouted into my ear.  
I turned to frown at him, fishing out twenty septims. "Go fetch your bedroll. You're sleeping on the floor again." I paid, and followed a woman to our room on the roadside of the inn. Aventus dropped his bags next to mine, and disappeared to the stables again. I headed out to the common room to try and find us a table, but somehow ended up at the counter again. So I did the most sensible thing – I ordered food and drink while I was there. Aventus finally came back, and the few glimpses I caught of him at the door, he was looking a little like a wet cat. I sniggered to myself at the image, and presumed it was raining outside. I wound my way through the crowd to him, and someone bumped into my shoulder. I turned, sharply, stumbling and trying to righten myself as a hand belonging to that person caught me and held me up. The snarl froze on my face, and my insult died in my throat when I looked into the golden eyes of the Dragonborn. He looked as surprised as I felt. "Alysa," he greeted, turning to face me and letting me go.  
I dipped my head in greeting. "Tawarthion. It's… good to see you again," I managed, hating the crowd.  
The Altmer grinned, apparently at my forced attempt to shout at him. "I can hear you just fine if you speak a little louder than usual," he tapped his ears, "I have a spell which helps dim the noise, and I can hear better than the mortal races."  
I rolled my eyes, quickly scanning the crowd. Aventus was a short distance from us. "Lucky you," I returned, closing my eyes briefly when glass shattered on the stone floor somewhere, and a stream of shrieks and loud curses followed. Bar fights were always fun to watch, but even better to take part in, but only if you were a sober assassin. Ah, I remember when I won four hundred gold from such a fight… pity I had to pay the fine and damages afterwards. It left me with little more than fifty gold in the end.  
"Why don't you join me and Uthgerd?" Tawarthion asked, interrupting my reverie.  
"I have a companion with me," I said, nodding at Aventus as he appeared at my shoulder. "My half-brother. Hate to intrude," I finished, lying. Aventus looked pale suddenly. Somewhat in awe.  
Tar smiled. "It's no matter, really. Greetings, Son of Skyrim," Tar added, looking at Aventus.  
"Greetings," Aventus said stiffly, blinking. I was about to say something when he blurted out: "Are you  _really_  the Dragonborn? Can you  _really_  Shout?"  
I flicked my brother's ear. "That's rude," I chided. I was really enjoying playing the part of older sister. Not that Aventus would have had much of a choice, otherwise. He rubbed his ear, frowning at me.  
The Altmer only chuckled. "Join us, just for tonight, and I'll try to answer your questions."  
I sighed. Nodded. Tawarthion led us back to his table, and Uthgerd greeted us with a warm smile. I invented a cover story for both of us, which Aventus just nodded to. We were half-brother and –sister, and according to my tale, my father had re-married after my mother had died, and now I had collected my sibling from Riften. We were going to tour the wild around Falkreath before I sent him back to the Stormcloaks. I almost snorted at that part.  _As if_ , I thought, watching as the crowd slowly thinned as the night wore on. And I had renamed Aventus to 'Aerius'. I eventually directed the conversation towards the impending wedding in Solitude, and Tar admitted that he was going – he was the Dragonborn, and had to represent Ulfric Stormcloak at the same time so it left him with no choice  _but_  to go. Aventus quickly monopolised the conversation again, and after he had finally finished interrogating the poor Altmer, Uthgerd said something that made me backtrack her words. "Wait – did you say, a  _jester_  was here earlier?"  
Uthgerd nodded over her ale. "A  _jester_ , of all things. Strange fellow, though," she trailed, sipping her drink.  
"Mm, I remember him – he spoke in third person the whole time. But was he gifted! I've never seen anything quite like it before," Tar laughed, shaking his head.  
I could barely stop the smile spreading over my face, so I drowned it in swig from my tankard of water. "What was his name, if you got it?" Aventus asked before I could. I think he was catching on to who this was.  
"I believe he called himself the 'Fool of Hearts' and also 'Cicero' at one point," the elf said. We were slowly but surely speaking softer – the majority of the town had returned home for the night. Aventus gave me a strange look when I leaned back in my chair, stretching my legs out in front of me. "When did he leave?" I asked.  
"Perhaps an hour or more before nightfall…" Uthgerd said, watching me. I nodded, finding the patterns in the wooden tabletop fascinating. Hooves came hard and fast from outside, with a few huffs and snorts from the horses, and a few men calling to them and each other. I turned to the slightly frosted windows, and stiffened, sitting straighter. "Aerius, go see to the horses."  
"What? Why –"  
"Do it.  _Now_ ," I hissed at him. He stared back. A Penitus Oculatus agent walked in. Aventus's eyes flicked towards him, and recognition bloomed in them. I leaned closer to him, whispering in his ear. "I need to know how many there are. Go outside, and see to the horses. Be careful, Brother," I added a little louder, pulling away. Aventus set his jaw, but nodded, heading out anyway. I shifted in my seat, tuning in to every movement, every word the agent made and said. I looked at the Dragonborn who was staring at me knowingly. "Those agents and my…  _family_ , aren't particularly friendly with each other, as I'm sure you remember from last time," I said softly. I doubted Uthgerd could hear me, but the slight dip in the Altmer's head told me  _he_  had.  
Aventus came back a while later, followed by several more agents. "At least twelve," he breathed as he brushed past me, sitting.  _Damn,_  I thought. "And it sounds like they'll be here for at least another week, too. I overheard two speaking in the stables," he looked over at Tar and Uthgerd, and then the agents. I followed his gaze darkly. We couldn't go around and approach the Sanctuary from the west – a road ran above us, and if there were more agents camped there…. "We can keep them busy for a while. Where are you two headed?" Tar asked, his voice low when he leaned forwards. "West and north from here," I said. If he could even buy us a single day, I'd be grateful for it. "I'd take this favor from you instead of the horse, if it's all the same to you."  
Tar sighed: he looked torn between agreeing and paying for my two-fifty horse anyway. But he nodded. "Fine. I'll send them north-east of Falkreath. Go, retire for the evening," he commanded, leaning back.

Uthgerd the Unbroken just watched me frown, the suspicious part of me coming out for a moment. But I agreed, despite hating being commanded, and pulled Aventus along behind me. "Good night," we greeted in unison, and my brother and I ignored the uninterested gazes of the Penitus Oculatus agents as we headed to our room, closed the door and locked it, drawing the curtains shut. I unsheathed my daggers, holding one in each hand under my pillow, and Aventus laid his axe down on the floor next to him, his hand resting on the glass hilt.


	15. Oh. Oh....

**Chapter 15: Oh. _Oh…_.**

It took us two days to get back to the Sanctuary.  _Two days_. I had always hated those Oculatus agents, but now I was beginning to think that I should kill each one that  _dared_  show his face in my presence. Maybe I'd tag them as my kills with a bloody handprint…. I grinned at the thought: I would do that when I headed out on the collection of contracts Amaund had given me. Sithis help my brothers and sisters if they  _dared_  take these contracts from me.

I sighed happily once I entered the cool confines of the Sanctuary, our horses hidden in the spot I had left my first horse, after we hastily changed back into the Brotherhood's armor. I had my hood up when we padded down to the common room, listening to a commotion. Someone was fight-training something that had been summoned. I couldn't tell who it was from here, at least not over Aventus's excited chatter. He led the way down the last flight of stairs, and as I lifted my eyes to see who was fighting, my eyes widened, my jaw slacked and my breath caught in my throat. "Oh…" I breathed.

Cicero faced a summoned Spriggan, his cap gone and his shirt was nowhere to be seen. His body gleaming with sweat in the torchlight from the exertion, dodging the Spriggan and her summoned bear. My heart raced, my breath catching in my throat. I was probably breathing faster, but I didn't know. "Oh," I breathed again, vaguely aware of Aventus at my side. Cicero turned to look at us. Concentration melted into confusion, and he straightened, ignoring the forest guardian. She was coming from behind. My instincts took over, and suddenly she shrieked, a daedric dagger in her forehead as she and her bear faded away, my blade clattering to the floor. I blinked a few times, my gaze falling on Cicero who now faced me squarely.  _He's… beautiful,_  I registered, taking in his form. He wasn't as well-built as someone younger would be, and undoubtedly had lost some of his form and muscle in the seventeen years he had looked after the Night Mother, but he was still fairly toned and defined, with slightly narrower hips than shoulders. He was panting, and cocked his head to one side as he gave me an inquisitive stare. I managed to pull in a ragged breath. I couldn't tear my eyes away from him. Cicero looked behind him, then back at me. Aventus came into my peripheral vision. I heard someone mumble something next to me. My heart thundered in my ears as I drank in Cicero's appearance.

"Alysa?" Festus appeared behind Cicero.  
"Cicero wonders if the most honorable Listener is alright…?" Cicero asked, sheathing his ebony dagger and slowly stepping closer. I suddenly came to my senses. I sucked in a deep breath, turning away and wrenched my cowl over my face in an attempt to conceal the deep, warm blush I could feel spread over my face.  _Oh, Night Mother help me…._  I closed my eyes, and was vaguely aware of Aventus scurrying away, much like young wolf pup would give way to an alpha. "Listener?" a soft voice asked, fingertips touching my shoulder lightly. I focused on my breathing, and stilled my heart enough to be able to think a little more clearly. I drew a deep breath and slowly let it out. "Alysa, are you alright? Cicero wor- _wonders_ ," Cicero asked even softer. I slowly turned and relaxed a little to see Cicero had his shirt on again, not quite buttoned, but on. He was less distracting now. He held out my dagger, his fingers gone from my shoulder. I took my blade and sheathed it, then searched his face. His steel-grey eyes were softened with concern. I tried to smile tentatively under my cowl, and Cicero smiled back, the madness fading from his eyes for a few moments as he carefully reached for my face, pulling my cowl down, his fingertips just brushing my face in places. I grinned broadly all of a sudden. "I missed you, Cicero."  
He beamed, that madness I had come to know brightening in his face. "Oh! Sweet Alysa! Dear Listener! Cicero has missed you very much as well, indeed!"  
He looked about ready to pull me to him in a tight embrace, but stopped himself short. I was almost disappointed. I reached out to him, touching his chest before moving my hand to his side, stepping closer, unsure of myself. But the Keeper needed no further encouragement. I was swept into his arms and off my feet, spinning round and round as Cicero skipped and danced, singing joyfully about something only Sithis and the Night Mother would understand. I started laughing, eventually joining the fool in his wild dance across the common room, instead of just being swept along. "The Listener has returned! The Listener has returned!" he shrieked, pulling me into our strange dance.

Oh, it was good to be home.  _Is_  good to be home.

 

* * * * * * *

 

She had missed  _him!_  She had  _missed_  Cicero! Sweet Listener Alysa had missed humble  _Cicero!_  Oh, sweet Night Mother, it makes Cicero's heart sing! And dancing with Alysa, hearing her laugh! Seeing her smile! Oh, Cicero must SING! And when Cicero saw Aventus's face… oh, to see him so dejected, rejected! Ha ha ha! It makes Cicero gleeful. But Cicero wonders why Alysa had stared, what had  _made_  her stare. Surely it hadn't been Cicero… but if it  _had been_  Cicero… well, that would make Cicero fly! Of course, not  _really_  fly, but that's the idea! Cicero grins. Oh, it would be wonderful if it were true…. Cicero slowly stops spinning, looking at the pretty little Nord Listener.  
"Cicero…" the sweet Listener started.  
"Yes, dear Listener?"  
"I'd like to go see the Night Mother. Escort me to her coffin," she commanded, her pretty blue eyes so irresistible to dear, humble Cicero.  
"Of course, Listener!" Cicero stepped back, letting go and holding his arm for dear, sweet Alysa…. She grinned, turning and looping her arm through Cicero's. We walked to the Night Mother, and Cicero was doing his best not to grin too stupidly to have his dear Listener so close.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I've never had a feeling like this before – I felt light, free. Cicero was close, and I was beginning to understand what Babette had told me so long ago. We headed to the coffin, and the fool carefully unhooked my arm, waiting close to the door of his and the Night Mother's chambers. I spotted a vase of freshly-picked Nightshade, and took five of the blossoms as a bouquet for her. I presumed Cicero had gone flower-hunting, and I could feel his eyes on me as I neared her coffin. I knelt, briefly dipping my head. "All is going well, Unholy Matron, and the contract is coming together, piece by piece," I murmured, looking at the flowers, and placing them at the foot of her coffin. "Is there anything else you require of me?"

A cold whisper of a touch fluttered by my cheek, and I shivered before an ever-more familiar cold and calculating calm filled me.  _No, my Listener…. May the Dread Father keep you and yours…_  her voice faded from my mind. I looked up at her withered corpse, and got the distinct impression she was pleased with something, though I wasn't sure what. It seemed greater than just something I had done. I felt a cool but genuine smile spread across my face, and stood, respectfully backing away before I turned to face Cicero. He cocked his head to one side, a coy grin on his face. It was probably afternoon now. "How about lunch?" I asked, grinning.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I awoke that night to faint sounds of howling and shrieking. The other members were still asleep, from the quick glance I passed around, and I slid out of my bed, taking a dagger in hand. I had learnt to be a light sleeper, and it was something that I both cursed and blessed. I followed the noise past Babette's chambers. A brief glance inside told me she wasn't there. They seemed to be coming from the Keeper's chambers, though. I padded closer, the stone cold under my bare feet. I frowned in concern: it was definitely coming from there. I tried the door, and it opened on silent hinges. What I saw inside stopped my black little heart cold.

Cicero was ranting and raving, slashing and attacking at invisible enemies while he shrieked incoherently about his Family, the Night Mother, the Sanctuar _ies_.  _He's been to more than this one and the one he was originally in?_  I wondered, stepping further in and closing the door. I hadn't – still didn't – know what had happened to him, but he was clearly reliving it. I drew in a deep breath when he suddenly crumpled to the floor, hands over his ears, rocking and mumbling something. He still hadn't noticed me. I put my dagger on a table, and cautiously stepped closer. "Cicero?" I asked softly.  
He didn't move, and as I got closer I dropped to my haunches, still edging closer. "Cicero?" I touched his shoulder gingerly. He flinched, looking at me. I felt a pang when I realized he didn't recognize me. "They're… I can't… all dead… I can't save them! It's not safe anymore!" he breathed frantically. I barely registered he was using  _only_  first person. "I was gone… they were dead… everyone…" he despaired. "I didn't know! I couldn't help! And I can't find the Listener! What if I  _never_  find the Listener?!" he wailed, breathing heavily, his grey eyes wide with fear.  
"Shh… hey, it's alright, you're ok now, you're somewhere safe," I said, laying my palm on his shoulder. "You'll find her, Cicero. You'll find the Listener, I swear to you," I said. He pulled me into an embrace. I stiffened on instinct, but quickly folded my arms around him.

We sat on the floor for a long time before I realized his shoulders had stopped shaking. "Come on," I said softly, gently pushing him up. "It's still night. You should rest, Cicero."  
He looked at me and nodded. We slowly stood, and Cicero made his way to his bed. I perched on the edge, a little uncomfortable at being so close in a situation like this. I stayed until his breathing deepened, but the second I made to stand Cicero's arm shot out and his hand clamped around my forearm. "Stay, please; don't leave Cicero alone."  
I hesitated: I might have started feeling more comfortable around him, but I still wasn't totally sure about it. But nodded anyway. "Just let me get a chair and blankets," I said, prying his fingers off my arm, and pulled a chair closer to the head of his bed, my back to the wall and after draping an extra blanket over myself, settled into it. Cicero's wide eyes never left me until I curled up in the chair, and suddenly he was asleep. My eyes drooped not long after, and my dreams were filled with questions and scenarios about Cicero's past, and how young he had been when it all happened to him.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I woke up from the pain in my neck. I was still curled uncomfortably in the hard wooden chair, my right foot asleep and prickling. I was also a lot warmer: almost stiflingly so. I pried my eyes open to see an animal skin of sorts haphazardly tucked around me, and Cicero wasn't in my immediate line of sight. I breathed deeply still, not moving as I scanned the area. The scratching of a quill on parchment started up furiously, and I realized I had been hearing it in my sleep for some time. Cicero was writing something in one of his journals. I shifted and stretched, and Cicero glanced sheepishly at me before finishing what he wrote, sprinkling sand over the ink to dry it faster before closing the book.

 

* * * * * * *

 

"Cicero is sorry about last night. Cicero… knows that  _it_  happens, but Cicero wishes it wouldn't," he finishes, shuffling his feet under the table, not quite looking at the honorable Listener. She found Cicero at his worst, remembering all the horrid, horrid things that happened… Cicero just wishes they'd all go away, sweet Mother… all of the horrid, terrible memories. I looked up when the mighty, honorable Listener sat down on a chair next to me. She nodded. "But it's not your fault. None of what happened was –  _is_ – your fault. Remember that," she said, and looked sheepish. Cicero wondered why, but supposed she wasn't used to people. Not even the other members knew much about her. Cicero  _wants_  to know  _everything_  about her…. "Cicero… Cicero thinks he wants to tell you, sometime…" Cicero trails, wondering what sweet Alysa will say.  
She tried to smile. "Take your time, Cicero. I'm not heading out for at least another month: I'm going to take the Emperor contracts, and the wedding contract isn't due until at least two or three months: Tar was invited since he's the Dragonborn, and is also going to represent Ulfric. The Altmer has some inside information on the happenings, and apparently the bride is having trouble on deciding how she wants what," Alysa half-grinned at humble Cicero. Cicero grinned back.  
A strange gurgling noise filled the room, and Alysa quickly grabbed her stomach, going white and grinning guiltily. Cicero giggled, then laughed harder when the dear Listener joined in, and finally, eventually, sweet Mother, Cicero gathered his senses enough to speak. "Sweet roll, dear sister?"  
Alysa stopped for a second, glancing at the bread. Then she started laughing again. Such a beautiful sound, such a perfect one…. Cicero can't help but laugh as well. "I'd love one, my brother," she said, taking the bread, and started pulling it apart.  
"Cicero prefers a carrot, this morning," he says, crunching his orange carrot. Alysa looked at Cicero, and Cicero at Alysa, and Cicero knew he could trust her. It wasn't as serious as before now anymore, but Cicero knew she would listen to him, and he to her.

The Listener and the Keeper. Maybe never on the hunt together, but the Listener and the Keeper, forever and always.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Despite the heavy start to the morning, I left Cicero feeling a little lighter, and I was sure he felt it, too. We had a deeper kind of understanding now – or at least I thought we did – and I was ready to open up to him, to share my story as he wanted to share his, and strangely pleased that I could be there for him. I realized I  _wanted_  to be there for him, too. The thought…  _warmed_  me in ways I had learnt not be warmed anymore – I had learnt to become cold, and cruel; my life before the Brotherhood had seen to that early on. I licked my fingers again, and even though the honey was long-gone they were still sticky.

I had quickly snatched my dagger on the way to the washroom, and stowed it in my chest along with the other. I'd talk to Astrid today and hear what she had to say about it all – the wedding, and hear what she had managed to gather from our many spies across the country. It was surprising how easy it was to buy over a few beggars here, a guard there and a thief or three elsewhere. I bathed quickly, slipping into the Brotherhood's red and black robes. I stopped by my chest briefly to take the letter of credit, making sure it still looked fairly neat before I took it to Astrid. Nazir and Gabriella were talking excitedly about something, Festus grumbled about how incompetent the youth had become – I presumed he was talking about something that Aventus  _hadn't_  done – and by the time I reached the lower floor, my little brother was trying to defend himself over breakfast but Festus had him caught in a word-web. I sniggered when the young Imperial struggled to say the right things, and eventually gave up, blushing furiously. "A bright and bloody morning to you," I greeted.  
Nazir was the first to look me over suspiciously. "Someone call Babette. Alysa's ill," he said tonelessly, a perfectly blank expression on his face. I scowled at him, only for him to laugh heartily, joined shortly by the others. I rolled my eyes and smiled, then faced Aventus. "I'll meet you in the training area. Warm up so long: I need to speak with Astrid," I said, striding past and bounced up the stairs two at a time. I couldn't be sure, but I thought I heard Nazir tell Aventus to close his mouth. To the Void with his puppy love: I wasn't interested, and if he didn't quite understand yet, he certainly would.


	16. Let the Planning Begin!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize the formatting is iffy at best but I'm just trying to get this old fic up here for people :)

**Chapter 16: Let the Planning Begin!**

"Good, you're back again. Well, what did Mallory have to say? Is the amulet authentic?" Astrid asked eagerly, her eyes shining as she almost jumped up and down in excitement. For the first time since Cicero arrived, I found myself agreeing with her emotions. I really wanted this as well – maybe even more. "Delvin said the amulet is authentic, and is uniquely made for each Elder Council member," I replied, a grin spreading over my face and a light, giddy feeling rising in my stomach. I couldn't wait to get started on these contracts….  
Astrid's eyes widened and she gaped for a few seconds. "The  _Elder Council_ … Oh, now  _that_  explains quite a bit! Motierre, you naughty, naughty boy! Hiring the Dark Brotherhood to help you rise beyond your station….  _Delicious_ ," she giggled darkly.

I smirked in reply. It really was quite something. I held out the letter of credit. "Delvin agreed to buy the amulet," I said before she could ask. She opened the seal, her eyes gleaming at the amount she saw inside. She folded it shut, a certain light in her eyes. I met her gaze evenly. "Splendid! Then we're ready to begin. Or, more specifically,  _you're_  ready to begin. After all, you're the one the Night Mother spoke to. Now then; I hope you have something nice to wear. Because you'll be going to a wedding."  
I raised my brows. "The first contract. It's only due in several weeks."  
Astrid nodded excitedly. "Yes. I'll send notice to our spies in the Thieves Guild, and our contacts in the cities to gather as much information about the wedding as we can. You seem to know something about it…" she trailed.  
I nodded. "I spoke to someone who is close to the top Stormcloaks, and he mentioned the wedding would probably only be set in a month to two months at the fastest. Vici seems to have trouble on deciding about anything."  
Astrid nodded thoughtfully. "Very good. Well, you won't actually be attending the  _wedding_ , but the public reception. It'll last three days, and should be a  _lovely_  affair," she purred, smiling darkly. "You'll mingle with the guests, eat some cake… stab the bride. Oh yes," she in response to my half-grin. "You've got to kill Vittoria Vici. At her wedding. And they say romance is dead…." I nodded, listening as Astrid continued. "I'll let you know as soon as we find out more about the happenings, Alysa. How is Aventus doing?" she asked before I could leave.  
"Well. I'm meeting him in the training area now, in fact."  
Astrid nodded. "It's good to know. You know, you'd make a lovely couple, even though he  _is_  younger."

I narrowed my eyes at her, feeling my blood turn to ice. I clenched my jaw and left. Aventus…  _no_. I couldn't even begin to imagine it. He was a child to me still – no older than eleven when we had first met, and I had been nineteen, hardened by three years of life on the streets of Windhelm. I wrinkled my nose in disgust at Astrid's suggestion, striding to the training area. Arnbjorn was working the forge, Veezara was meditating, and Aventus was warming up, shirtless. I stopped to look at him. He was – I supposed – pleasing, but still…. I almost grinned when I thought of Cicero training yesterday.  _That_ , I wouldn't mind seeing again. Gabriella appeared from deeper in the Sanctuary, a strange smile on her face as she openly admired our younger brother, while he moved through different stances completely oblivious to her. I sighed, and padded closer. I could tell he was already warm, and excited to train. I would be happy to oblige, especially if I could give him a proper beating to boot.

" _BROTHER!_ " Cicero shouted, sing-song as he skipped to us. "Cicero would be  _honored_  to help train his younger brother! Honored  _indeed_! If the great and mighty Listener would permit humble Cicero, that is."  
I smirked at the ground to stop the stupid grin over my face. "Personally,  _I_  would never say no to a more experienced brother…" I trailed, lifting my gaze to my younger brother's. Aventus seemed to pout a little, while a certain gleam came into Cicero's eyes. I wondered what exactly he had planned for the poor child. Either way, the younger Imperial had a lot to learn from the both of us. And it wasn't going to come easily.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Sneaking, and lockpicking, and stalking, and pretending to pickpocket – that's what humble Cicero and the mighty Listener started teaching their little brother – he he he, Cicero enjoyed teaching him, because it gave Cicero a chance to use skills he had almost forgotten. Almost, but not quite. Cicero remembered them again quickly, and had so much fun teaching his younger brother to sneak… oh, Cicero was cruel, Cicero knows, but really, when the Fool of Hearts is given a chance… " _Oh, if I see that fair maid Nelly, I'll plunge my knife into her belly!_ " Cicero sang, twirling and skipping to the dining hall with a beaten Aventus behind, and a bemused-amused Alysa next to sweet Cicero. Oh! 'Twas bliss, sweet Mother! She – the honorable Listener, of course – shot Cicero a grin at his rhyme.

Cicero had  _also_  trained with his Listener – she was getting better, but was still fighting a little too clean – not the kind of fighting humble Cicero had gotten used to, really. Cicero went quiet when he remembered  _that_  night, and how his Listener had been there for him. It was all those long years ago on that night that Cicero had learned to survive – not just sneak and stab-stab-stab and escape, or leave a flourish, or a signature of his work… and sometimes training for proper combat. Since the start of it all, the Black Hand had made it important for all the members to be able to fight – really fight, like the Legion or the Stormcloaks, and not just like assassins in the dark. Not that there weren't those who knew it already, it just wasn't all that practiced. And not that it helped most, but it had helped Cicero, and now Cicero was still alive, in the last Sanctuary in Tamriel. Well, except for the _other_  one, but Cicero wouldn't mention it now. Not yet, and perhaps only later to the Listener.

"Ooh! Cicero thinks that smells wonderful! Delicious!  _MAGICAL!_ " he cackled – it was  _definitely_  Festus working on lunch. Cicero had learned to  _smell_  the difference!  
Aventus half-laughed. "How do you know Ch-Cic-Keeper?" he stumbled over his words.  
Cicero flashed the boy a dark grin. It was fun to make him nervous, really. Lots and lots of fun! Tee-hee-hee. "Cicero just  _knows_ ," he grins, grabbing dear, sweet Alysa's wrist and pulled her along to the hall.  
She chuckled, impressed. "Well, I suppose you were right," she smirked, and Cicero beamed! So happy to see  _her_  happy – Mother chose well, as Mother always does! Cicero is glad to have one like Alysa for a Listener. So strong, so mighty, so pretty… especially pretty and clever, sweet Night Mother.

Festus looked up from his work at the wondrous, magical and amazing food. Cicero really  _did_  prefer his cooking to Nazir's, but then, the Redguard wasn't  _so_  bad, either. Just different. "Hmf, you're getting too good at recognizing the differences, Keeper," he growled, but Cicero had a feeling he was a great big wonderful ball of something soft underneath – I was  _very_  sure of that, but I suppose the wizard enjoyed being grumpy and rude and intelligent all the time – for Cicero, if  _he_  had to be like that, humble Cicero would go crazy… he he he, yes, absolute  _madness!_

Cicero saw Nazir snort, ignoring some sarcastic comment which his dear Listener scoffed at happily and Aventus laughed at. The Dunmer woman and the green-lizard-man had left apparently, or weren't here yet, or were somewhere else because Cicero hadn't seen them yet. Or, maybe he saw the fortune-teller this morning while training with Aventus… but Cicero isn't really very concerned with her. Strange womer, that one. Very strange…. Cicero poured mead and ale for his Family – he was feeling happy and generous, after all, otherwise he would have done it just for himself and dear Alysa – and squealed happily when his beloved Listener came with a large plate of food for Cicero, and a slightly smaller one for herself. Cicero grinned gleefully when Aventus had to go for himself – he wasn't  _nearly_  as lucky as sweet Cicero was! No, dear Night Mother, he never would be….

It was a hearty meal, and Cicero was thoroughly, through-and-through happy and glad and ecstatic and thrilled! Cicero enjoyed himself a lot, especially when the assassinations and planning for the Emperor's assassinations came up when Astrid and Arnbjorn and Gabriella-the-Dunmer came in. Oh, oh! It would be wonderful! Spectacular! Cicero wishes he could have joined his Listener on her contracts – it would have been so much fun! The Listener and the Keeper! On the hunt! But Cicero would settle for his honorable Listener's stories, and would always,  _always_  stay behind to look after you, Cicero's dear Unholy Matron. Always.

 

* * * * * * *

 

It always occurred to me after a meal, that a bunch of assassins together were incredibly loud. Pleasantly so, but loud all the same. Talk over lunch had quickly turned to that of my string of assassinations-to-be, and the planning each member was putting in. Veezara had apparently left a day or two ago to pan out Solitude – even before the assassination was to be planned, it had been established that a grand wedding would take place there. We'd know more once our Shadowscale came back. Nazir and Festus had their usual banter about who was the better chef, and only when Astrid and Arnbjorn had come in – the werewolf grumbling something about not having enough raw meat – did the rival chefs slow down enough to add to the conversation. I was pleased to see Aventus listened first, asking questions that were growing in usefulness each time. Still not quite as they should be, but between my training with him on the way to Riften and back, and Cicero's rather relentless training that morning, and an apparent aptitude for assassinations, he was learning fairly quickly. I smirked into my mug when I thought of how the morning had gone. It would undoubtedly be my turn again a little while after lunch, and I found myself excited by the idea that I could train with Cicero again. He was a challenge, and although I knew I was a sour loser and he would surely beat me many more times, I welcomed it. Probably a little more than I should have.

After lunch had become more of an easy conversation around the table, I excused myself to see to the horses. I was actually feeling a little cramped inside the Sanctuary, and some time outside was just what I needed. The horses were munching quietly outside, sneezing now and again as the seeds of some plant irritated them. My steed whickered softly at my appearance, and I felt a softened half-smile, half-smirk spread over my face. I grabbed a handful of grass, and touched the palomino's shoulder before I started sweeping the grass over its coat in attempt to brush the dirt off.  _I'll need to buy brushes when I head into town again,_  I made a mental note, and listened to their breathing and the quiet forest sounds.

The horses sensed a presence before I did, and I turned to search where they were looking, only to see Cicero walking closer, hands in his pockets and throwing his legs out, striding as if his legs were made of wooden poles. The horses lost interest quickly, while I kept watching, amused. Cicero beamed at me from the other side of the horse. "Cicero thought he'd find you here, when the Listener said to excuse her," he grinned, very proud of himself.  
I couldn't help but grin back, and quickly glanced down at the horse's withers. I wondered if he could see a change in me whenever he was near. As much as I hoped so, I almost dreaded it at the same time. It was the strangest feeling for me.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Cicero hasn't expected the Listener to go outside – Cicero thought she was coming back when she excused herself. But when she didn't return, Cicero remembered she said over lunch that she had gotten two new horses.  _Two!_  Cicero was so proud of his mighty Listener's clever plans! So  _very_  well chosen! Very well indeed, sweet Mother…. Cicero cut a handful of grass and brushed the other side of his Listener's horse. It was quiet, and Cicero was content. Just the Listener and the Keeper – well, the horses and the birds and the worms and the insects and the plants too – but just the Listener and the Keeper.

"So, what made you become an assassin, Keeper?" the Listener asked. Cicero stopped brushing to look at his Listener, just able to put her chin on the horse's back. If she wanted to, that is. "You don't have to tell me; I was just wondering," she added quickly, brushing intently. Cicero wonders at how interesting brushing a horse can be.  
Cicero continues brushing. "Well, Cicero was never  _meant_  to be an assassin. Cicero was  _supposed_  to join the Legion, like Cicero's father, and  _his_  father's father, and his father's  _father's_  father… and so on. Many generations from Cicero's family went to the Legion," Cicero frowned. "Cicero never wanted to join. Cicero wanted to be a bard! Or a mage, but a bard first. But! Cicero forgets: he was the youngest son, and had a sister and two brothers. Both in the Legion – his brothers, that is – and Cicero's then-father was very proud. He taught Cicero how to use the dagger – Cicero had always,  _always_  loved daggers." Cicero giggles, looking up to see his Listener listening attentively. At- _tent_ -ive- _lyyyy_ … strange word. Cicero flashes a grin, resting his hand on the wheat-colored horse. "Cicero thought he'd get a better chance at being a mage, so Cicero asked to be trained by the Legion mages. Cicero was a fool!  _But,_  not yet the Fool of Hearts! Cicero couldn't learn as much as he should have fast enough, and Cicero was trying  _so_  hard. Cicero would have tried anything just so that he wasn't just another worthless soldier…. So Cicero made the mistake of mentioning he might like to go to the Bard's College in Solitude – Cicero had always been clever with rhymes. But, Cicero never really used it, so it got rusty and dusty and GONE!" Cicero grinned at Alysa.  
"A bard? That explains all of your songs," she nodded, an assassinly-lazy-clever half-grin. "I can imagine you being a bard."  
"So could Cicero. But, as Cicero says, he made the mistake of mentioning it to his then-father… anyway, Cicero left that night with a small pack and his dagger. But Cicero was a young, stupid, foolish boy of fourteen: he didn't know gold didn't just  _APPEAR!_ " Cicero waved his hands and made a 'poof' sound. "He made it to Anvil from the Imperial City, and did some here-and-there work on the docks. But Cicero soon had to leave, because a man remembered Cicero's father, and then Cicero, and called Cicero 'Chickpea'. Cicero always hated that nickname…. So, Cicero…" he trailed off, grinning at Alysa. She grinned back, darkly and lovely-ly as she realized what Cicero said-without-saying. "Cicero quite liked the feeling of slashing and cutting and stabbing, and poisoning and skinning… so then he made his way to Chorrol, so no-one would find him and because he needed to go: too many were finding what Cicero left  _be-hiii-iiiiinnd_ ," Cicero sang, giggling with his dear Listener. "It was there – in Chorrol – where Cicero  _really_  started killing, and a then-Speaker found Cicero. He was a Dunmer, and taught Cicero all about sneaking and stalking and lockpicking and assassin-fighting. He kept us off the road for a month – or was it three? Cicero doesn't remember – before he took Cicero to the Bruma Sanctuary." Cicero stopped, frowning to himself as he remembered his Family there. So kind, so accepting…. Cicero had immediately been at home.  
"At least they found you quickly," the dear Listener said quietly, and Cicero looked up. He was about to ask what the mighty Listener meant when the horses jumped and snorted.

"I apologize; I hadn't realized people and horses were here," a hunter –  _huntress_  – appeared, dropping down from an outcrop. "Could you tell me which Hold I'm in?" she asked.  
"Falkreath. The city's half-an-hour or so that way," Alysa pointed. "Perhaps we can accompany you; we need supplies, anyway."  
His Listener had a plan to protect the Sanctuary? Or was she going to kill the huntress? Cicero wondered: the huntress was very close to the Door. "I'd appreciate that," the huntress smiled.  
The Listener gestured for the huntress to come past, and nodded at Cicero. He grinned broadly. You see, sweet Mother, the huntress was too close to the Black Door…. Too close. "Tee-hee-hee," Cicero couldn't help but giggle. The huntress glanced back at Cicero, concerned. Then she froze. "Is that… a…  _Black Door_? For the Dark Brotherhood?" she asked, staring at the Door.  
Alysa came up behind her. "Yes. So?"  
"We need to tell the Penitus Oculatus! They must erase these disgusting, bastardly cutthroats!"  
"Someday, maybe. But not today."

Oh, the Listener was so cool! Composed! Cicero loved the dark smile that played her lips when she looked at the huntress who kept complaining. Alysa crossed her arms as the huntress grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking the Listener! How  _dare_  she?! Cicero snarled, whipping out his dagger. The Listener moved, turning the huntress to face Cicero. "Sithis take you to the Void, Huntress," the Listener smirked, and Cicero saw the huntress's fear. " _Oh, if I see that fair maid Nelly, I'll plunge my knife into HER BELLY!_ " Cicero sang, giggling as he stab-stab-stab, slash-slash-slashed the huntress.

Cicero and his Listener Alysa were both covered in blood. Lots of red, warm, metallic-tasting blood!

Especially Cicero.

He he he. Cicero wiped his blade on the grass, hoist-hoist-hoisting the huntress into his shoulders and with the honorable Listener's help, hid her body. I looked up at her once we were done. She was so pretty, even covered in all the blood. Maybe even more so than before… all the little splatters and drops around her face and mouth…. She licked her lips, tasting some of the blood as she did. Cicero wondered what she would do if he kissed her… Cicero supposed he shouldn't yet. He swallowed hard. "Shall we go back and train a little, beloved Listener?" he managed instead.

She smiled.  _Really_  smiled. At Cicero. "I'd be honored, Keeper."


	17. Travel Breaks and Sparring Lessons

**Chapter 17: Travel Breaks and Sparring Lessons**

I lay on my back in my bed that night, unable to sleep despite the training Cicero and I did together for most of the afternoon. He had beaten me each time, and it was frustrating. I learned to act faster and plan as things changed, so by the end I was figuring him out a little more, but I had been too tired to make much use of it.

And now, probably a little before midnight, I was still awake: my mind replaying the moment when Cicero and I had hidden the huntress's body. The way he had looked at me, specifically. It had been… almost…. I struggled to find the right word.  _Hungry? Wistful?_  I frowned at the ceiling.  _Had Cicero wanted to_ kiss _me?_  A massive grin exploded across my face when I thought that. The last man I had allowed close enough to try to kiss me had gotten his throat cut seconds later: he was my target for a minor contract Nazir had given me, and that was four or five years ago. And before that… I sighed through my nose and pursed my lips. Before then it had been the man who had eventually become the first of many who turned into my ticket to the Dark Brotherhood.

My mood soured instantly as I remembered him, my lips instinctively curling into a sneer. I had been only twelve… sold when my drunk gambler of a father couldn't afford both of us anymore. I smirked darkly at the ceiling as I remembered how I had killed the nobleman he had sold me to. Oh, what a joyous night that had been. And the woman in Shor's Stone after that, and her sister, and unfortunately her son had survived. Then I went to Windhelm, and three years later my life had changed for the better….

I left those thoughts behind, and wondered what it would be like to kiss Cicero. My smirk turned into a soft smile, and I felt giddy all over. There wasn't a chance in the Void I was going to fall asleep in this state. I let my mind's eye show me the Keeper's face and especially his eyes this afternoon. I'll be saved by the Divines if he hadn't been considering whether or not he should kiss me. A stupidly massive grin was now properly plastered on my face. I needed to get rid of all my energy. I rolled upright and out of bed, wondering where I'd go, and what exactly I'd do. I settled on going through what Cicero had shown me when we returned to the Sanctuary.

It was a slow kind of training, working on balance and focus. I had failed miserably this afternoon, growing so frustrated with it that Cicero had eventually agreed to let me spar it out with him. I had forgotten that he was still better than me, even hand-to-hand, and after he pinned me to the ground for the third time, I started fighting dirty, relying on my instincts to guide my blows as I had that morning. Cicero had started sniggering gleefully, and although I was finally managing to be a little difficult to beat, he still got me another two times before we both called it quits. We were both breathing hard, and drenched in sweat. Once alone in the washroom – Cicero having left for his private one – I examined the fine collection of bruises I had acquired when we had gotten carried away. I healed them with my restoration spell, and washed away the grime of our mock-battle. I was going to be deliciously stiff in the morning.

I came back to the present when Babette glanced at me when I passed. I flashed her a toothy grin, and the coy smile of a young woman spread over the little-girl face. I pretended not to notice what she insinuated as she wiggled her brows at me, and padded barefoot to the training area. I breathed in deeply, trying to focus my thoughts on what I was going to do. It took me several minutes, but I finally calmed down enough to start stretching. I could already feel my muscles were stiff. It was a pleasant change: the last time I had been stiff was eight years ago, when my training was still incomplete. I slowly started flowing through the movements Cicero had shown me. I wasn't sure how long I had been there, but when I finally stopped I was warm, slightly damp and thoroughly tired. I cleaned myself up and donned new robes before flopping onto my bed, hugging my pillow to my chest as I lay on my stomach.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I was grumpy that morning. Grumpy and snappy, and I wanted to kill the first thing that irritated me. Little sleep did that to me, especially when I was home with my brothers and sisters, because their actions or words would probably set me off – and little Aventus would be the receiving end of it all. If I was alone, out on a contract, my mood would change from grumpy to hyper-alert. That little Imperial boy had  _better not_  push my buttons  _this_  morning….  _Or Astrid, for that matter._

I stalked down for breakfast, my face set in a deep scowl. Nazir gave me a once-over. I immediately knew what sarcastic comment he would make –  _Good morning, Sunshine, you've got such a cheery smile, don't you go turn it upside down, now_  – also knowing he'd keep quiet because he wasn't interested in a fight so early. I was grateful that my Family had come to know my more extreme habits and moods. There were still leftovers from the food Festus had made yesterday afternoon, and it was warmed over the fire. I ladled the stew into a bowl, and ignoring the promise I had made to myself about mead, poured a large tankard of it to make my day start off just a little bit better.

I sat down at the furthest end of the table, away from the already chatty group. I was finally beginning to feel a little better when Aventus plopped down next to me.  _Oh, Sithis help you…. And me,_  I thought darkly, ignoring him as he started eating. I slurped the stew, concentrating on its warmth and flavor. "So, Alysa, I was thinking that today we could maybe head into Falkreath," Aventus started cheerfully. I felt the gazes of my other brothers and sisters on us, especially on Aventus. I think they might have been trying to warn him without making it too obvious. Astrid came by, rounding my end of the table, a slight smile on her lips as she winked at my younger brother. I narrowed my eyes at her, scowling even deeper.  _She_  had something to do with this. "Aventus, why don't you come join us over here?" Gabriella tried.  
Aventus shook his head. "I'd like it if you could show me around, and tell me about –"  
"For the love of  _Sithis_ ," I spat, rounding on him. " _Leave me alone_. I am  _not_  interested in you: not now, not ever,  _boy_. You were  _eleven_  when I met you; I was  _nineteen_. Whether you like it or not, I still think of you as a little boy who belongs in Honorhall Orphanage, with all the other pathetic little creatures that were there," I stood, my half-eaten breakfast suddenly not so appealing. Thank the Night Mother my mead was already finished. "And as of now,  _you_  will refer to me as your  _Listener_ ," I snarled, striding out. I was cold all over from my rage.

It vaguely registered that it was also the first time I had used my new-found title to get what I wanted. When I suddenly came to my senses again, I was standing at the Night Mother's coffin. I glanced around. I couldn't see Cicero anywhere. I opened the lid, and sat down cross-legged at the Night Mother's feet. I sighed angrily. "Damn that bloody Imperial to Sovngarde and back," I started.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Cicero froze. Was that… the  _Listener?_  No, surely Cicero is hearing things again. Hee hee, yes: just the voices again. But then it continues! I don't normally hear it  _so_  clearly…. He inches closer to the Night Mother's chambers. If there is a defiler… Cicero shall throw them on a  _pyre!_  Hee hee hee…. He snuck forwards, staying close to the wall.

A woman's voice spoke clearly – clearly angry! Oh, sweet Mother, what is she fuming and flaming and ranting and raving about? Cicero wonders. "I swear, if he doesn't just  _leave me alone_ , I'll probably end up gutting him myself! I just can't believe that  _idiot_  fool would even think that he stood a chance with me! Foolish Imperial…."

Cicero froze. Was the honorable, beautiful Listener talking about…  _me?_  Humble Cicero? Cicero hoped not. Oh, dear Night Mother and terrible Sithis, please: let it not be Cicero! Cicero doesn't want to be the one his Listener doesn't like… doesn't  _love_. Cicero kept listening, anyway.  _Eavesdropping,_  he corrected himself, inching closer. He could see the Listener sitting cross-legged by the Night Mother's open coffin. "But Cicero…" the Listener's voice trailed softly, sweetly. Cicero felt his hopes and heart soar. Oh!  _THANK_  you, Unholy Night Mother and Dread Father Sithis! Dear Alysa was ranting and raving about Aventus! "Cicero is an entirely different matter. In fact, I think I –"  
I could hear the smile in her voice. He couldn't hold his excitement anymore. " _Listener!_  It's you! It's the Listener!" Cicero squeals, jumping forwards and bounding to his honorable Listener. "Cicero thought he was imagining things – voices – again, but when Cicero came to see, he saw the Listener!" he babbled. Cicero knows he's babbling, and the Listener looks wary. Cicero beams at her.  
"How long have you been there?" she asked, twisting to look at the dear Fool of Hearts.  
"Well, Cicero came as soon as he heard muttering, and when he saw you sitting here, he said hello! Well, not 'hello'; after all, Cicero called you the 'Listener', which is what you are and–" Cicero stopped, watching his Listener, his dear Alysa, grin. She still hadn't stood, and was  _still_  twisted to look at Cicero. So pretty… so strong, too. Difficult to teach but a fast learner once she stopped over-thinking. Cicero loved that about his Listener. Among various other things…. "Cicero?" she asked.  
Cicero swallowed. "Yes, Listener?"  
She scoffed quietly. "You really don't need to call me 'Listener' when no-one else is around," she hesitated. Cicero wondered at it. "I'd prefer it if you called me Alysa."  
Cicero blinked. Had he heard right? She had spoken so softly…. "Alysa?" She looked back at Cicero. "Must Cicero -  _I_  - call you  _Alysa?_ "  
She took a deep breath. "Yes. I'd like you to call me by my name." She smiled.  
Cicero beamed back. "Then Cicero shall call you Alysa!" he skipped closer, sitting down next to Alysa. "What does our Mother say?"  
"She hasn't said much to me now, but I can feel her presence when I speak to her. It's strangely comforting to feel," she looked up at our dear Night Mother. "A little disconcerting, and cold, but comforting."

Cicero looked up at the Night Mother, then at Alysa's profile. So perfect, so perfect…. A few strands of her hair fell between Cicero and Alysa, and Cicero wanted to brush it away.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I could feel Cicero staring at me. I was trying hard to ignore his steel-grey gaze, but the lightness in my stomach was proof of his effect on me. I wondered if he noticed. When my loose hair fell between us, I felt a little relieved to be protected from his piercing gaze – though I also wished for it.

Cicero shifted next to me, and a few moments later gloved fingers gently brushed my hair away, tucking it behind my ear. I turned to look at Cicero, seeing the same surprise in his eyes as I was sure was also in mine. His fingers trailed lightly along my jaw, and I couldn't think of anything else – just his touch, his eyes, how close he was to me…. We stared at each other for a few seconds, but a crash from the training room and Arnbjorn's loud swearing and a younger man's cry had both of us on our feet, immediately alert.

I turned to look for Cicero when I saw he had closed the Night Mother's coffin. He was silent and fast. I admired that about the jester; the skills he still had. I licked my lips and turned to the door, stalking out with Cicero taking the rear, a soft hiss of a dagger sliding out of its sheath the only sound he made.

A lone howl turning to deep growling met our ears at the training area – a few tables had been overturned and smashed, along with a few of the dummies. Aventus was pinned to the floor under one of Arnbjorn's massive mealy-white werewolf paws, pale and lying dead still aside from a few involuntary shivers as our resident wolf growled in the young Imperial's face. I could only imagine what that must've smelt like. I sniggered despite myself, immediately sobering and slapping a hand over my mouth when Arnbjorn's wolfish attention turned to me.

I didn't have a weapon, and I wasn't wearing armor, and Arnbjorn was furious about something – murderous, if he had phased into a wolf. And there were only two things that got him this angry: something about Astrid, or something about this Sanctuary. A hand tugged at my arm, pulling my backwards.

I stumbled, surprised as Cicero's motley-covered form moved in front of me, dagger in his left hand. "Cicero, wait," I breathed.  
Babette was standing in the shadows, ready to dart out and pull our younger brother from immediate harm's way, given the chance. Her red eyes glowed a little as she concentrated. Astrid stormed in, followed hotly by Festus, Gabriella and Nazir, the last two chuckling silently at the spectacle. Festus cleared his throat, calmly striding forwards as magic glowed around his hands. Arnbjorn snarled at snapped at him, ignoring his pinned prey for the challenge that presented itself. "Really, pup, you should learn to  _control_  yourself better," the old Breton chided, his magic glowing a brighter green.

Arnbjorn pounced.

Festus didn't flinch, throwing his magic at the werewolf.

Arnbjorn crashed to the ground, paralyzed as Festus immediately used his magicka to cast a calming spell. It must've been one he had developed specifically for werewolves, because Arnbjorn immediately started phasing back into a Nord man. I looked over at where Aventus had been, and saw him safe on the other side of the Sanctuary with Babette, still watching warily as she held onto Aventus's arm. Astrid was grumbling angrily about the damage and werewolves as she grabbed a cloth from somewhere and threw it at a very naked Arnbjorn.  
"Get dressed," she snapped, storming past everyone to her chambers.

I tried hard to bite back the giggles that threatened to break out. They came out anyway as a strangled chortle. Cicero gave me a funny look, and I lost it. I sniggered openly, and Nazir's deep rumble soon joined me. Babette only grinned, slightly sleepy, and our younger brother Aventus only looked more upset and embarrassed. Arnbjorn seemed too relaxed to catch the humor, barely getting the cloth around his waist as he grinned merrily, humming some happy tune as he strolled to his shared room with Astrid. She probably wouldn't let him in, and only  _just_  throw out some clothes while she worked out what needed replacing, and how much it would cost. I loosed Cicero's fingers on my arm, lightly brushing past him down the stairs.

"So, Aventus," I called, smirking gleefully at him. "What did you do to our werewolf that he lost it so much he phased?"  
"Foolish boy probably doesn't even realize what he did," Festus grumbled, scowling off to his spell-making altar. Aventus blushed furiously, and Babette poked his ribs, grinning. Then she yawned.  
"To bed for me. I'm up too late," she declared, walking to her stone slab. " _Again_ ," she added as an afterthought.  
"Ah, yes: Gabriella, your contract is in Whiterun. Someone wants one of Kynareth's priests dead," Nazir interjected, turning to Gabriella with an innocent expression. "Now, if  _that_  isn't divine intervention, then I don't know what is."

The few of us still around sniggered, and even Aventus managed a nervous, twitchy smile. The Redguard and Dunmer walked off to the dining room to discuss the contract further. "Let's train," I called to Aventus and Cicero.  
The Keeper's face lit up, and Aventus looked crestfallen. "Yes, Listener," they chorused, one bright and madly cheerful, the other definitely defeated.

I grinned. I'd bet Aventus had mentioned something about Astrid to get Arnbjorn all worked up like that, and it would be my pleasure to embarrass him even more with a lovely training session with Cicero. I glanced back at the Keeper, offering a smile which he returned.

I felt humbled that he had tried to protect me: few people had ever done that for me.


	18. The First Cut is the Deepest

**Chapter 18: The First Cut is the Deepest**

Cicero sighed happily, breathing in the  _finally_  warmer spring air of Falkreath Hold. See, Cicero and Alysa were out here, on our way to the city. It had been two weeks since that horrid, nasty wolf had become the  _wolf_ , and he was still acting funny from Festus's spell. It was actually a little funny, really. Well, more than a  _little_  funny. Cicero giggled. "You're  _still_  getting a kick out of Arnbjorn's 'condition', aren't you?" Alysa asked, smiling. Oh, I love it when she smiles…. He just wished he could watch her walk in front of him, once in a while, to see her hips sway gently…. Cicero giggled again. "Of course! The Fool of Hearts thinks it's terribly funny! Tee-hee-hee!"  
Alysa laughed, and we walked on, on, on!  
"Cicero, do you sleep with that thing on?" Cicero blinked at her, stopping. Her eyes twinkled. "Your jester's cap. Do you sleep with it on?"  
"I… w-well, Cicero… he, no–  _hey!_ "

Alysa ran, giggling. She stole Cicero's cap! Right off his head! Gone! "Give it back to Cicero!" he shouted, running after the dear Listener. She was fast, agile. And little. Cicero had trouble finding her, now and again. So he just listened for the Listener. Cicero giggled. She was giggling and laughing. Cicero had heard from his brothers and sisters this was the happiest they'd seen her when she  _wasn't_  killing. Could it be, it was because of…  _me?_  Because of Cicero? He hoped so! Oh, that would be a wonderful thing, if it was because of Cicero! Because he feels the same way with her…. The Listener had stopped running, and Cicero slowed to stand and listen. " _Liiiiisssteneeeeeerrrrrrrrr…_ " Cicero sang softly, turning and listening. Leaves, wind. "Cicero will  _find you_ …."

Twigs snapped to Cicero's left.

He jumped.

Alysa squealed, and Cicero pulled her down with him; on his back, and  _her_  back on Cicero's front. We giggled and laughed, just lying there for a few moments. She still had Cicero's cap in her hands.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Cicero had found me the second I moved, because I had miscalculating the still-wintry twigs and smaller branches in the forest, caught up in my game of Steal-the-Jester's-Cap. His arms and circled around my waist from behind and I had squealed as he pulled me down on top of him, laughing. I was still clutching his cap, and our laughter died slowly, picking up now and again before fading into a comfortable, amiable silence as we tried to catch our breath.

I suddenly realized I wasn't uncomfortable with him holding me, having him so close to me. I was just positioned to my head could rest on his chest, and the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed had me entranced. His arms tightened around my waist, and I found my fingers lacing in between his. He gently squeezed my fingers, and I couldn't help but smile.

I didn't know how long we lay there – didn't actually care, really – when Cicero shifted. I could feel his lips press against my hair briefly. My breath hitched in my throat – there was no way he could miss that. I wondered if he could hear just how wildly my heart was thundering, too. "Cicero would love to stay here forever, dear Alysa," he murmured softly, "but we  _do_  need to go to Falkreath, and Cicero is sure Festus and Nazir might join forces against us if we return without food for them to argue about"  
I giggled softly. " _Them?_  Join forces? It'll be a miracle."

I scooted to the ground and stood up, Cicero only seconds behind. I dusted the seat of my leather pants, and held Cicero's cap out to him while he smoothed his motley over. He took his cap, and with a dramatic flourish and very straight and serious face, put it back on his head. I just stared at him, and we both tried very hard not to laugh and twitch as we stared, but eventually we both started laughing.

Falkreath wasn't much further, and we made our way to the small market, still giggling now and again. It was best to start there before heading to the general trader and other stores, simply because it was cheaper. I kept trying to be discrete about the sideways glances I shot Cicero.

Was he acting differently? Did he feel the same way I did? I'd have to wait until we were home before I started asking more questions. Cicero skipped and twirled, swishing his cap off and bowing with a lot of grand flourishes when we came into view of the town. Several children were running up to us, squealing and giggling while the adults looked on, bemused. Cicero turned to look at me, singing slowly, softly in a deadly voice as he walked backwards: " _Madness is merry; and merriment's might: when the jester comes calling with his knife in the night…._ " His eyes gleamed, and he turned back to the crowd. "The Fool of Hearts is here!" he cried, pulling his cap on again.  
I snorted good-naturedly. "A fool you are," I quipped as I passed him.

He gasped dramatically, but couldn't reply as he was bombarded by questions and requests from all the children at once. I was sure he'd keep everyone quite busy for a while.  _He would have been quite the bard_ , I thought, turning to look at him once I reached a vegetable stall. An elderly Breton woman smiled in Cicero's direction. "It's good to have a merryman in these parts again. He does wonders for everyone here," she smiled gently at me. I smiled back, but not quite for the same reason. Would she still sing his praises if she knew he was an assassin for the Dark Brotherhood? That he was the Night Mother's Keeper? That his madness wasn't quite as feigned as so many believed it was? I doubted it.

"What can I help you with, dearie?" the Breton woman asked.  
I handed her a list Nazir and Festus had composed for me and Cicero. "I need these items, whichever you have here, for my... uncles. Also, since I don't know much about the different vegetables, could you mark which ones I buy from you?"  
The woman nodded. "Of course, dearie. Let me see here…." She rummaged through various baskets and pulled out carrots, cabbages, radishes, potatoes, onions and a few other things I wasn't paying much attention to.

I suddenly realized Cicero was carrying the satchels we took to carry our goods in. "Cicero! The bags!" I called, watching him catch several balls he had been juggling. He grinned, tossing the balls into the air as he made his way to me, still juggling and turning. I paid little over one hundred gold for all of it, packing the produce into the bags after Cicero finally caught all the balls and handed the bags to me.

He started juggling the balls again, and finally tossed them into the crowd of children, and occasionally at a teenager or adult, if they looked interested enough - most ended up blushing a little. I dipped my head briefly in greeting to the Breton woman, making my way to the next stall, listening in on Cicero's absurd arsenal of jokes. Some were plainly crude in over-exaggerated humor, while others were witty political statements – I suspected he was far more aware of what went on outside the Sanctuary than he let on.

"Hold!" a sharp Imperial voice shouted, bringing an abrupt end to things.

Cicero had even stopped mid-word at the harsh command. He turned, frowning at the person who had interrupted the generally good mood in the market. "The Fool of Hearts doesn't like being interrupted, you know," he said crossly, hands on his hips. I turned to see who he was addressing, and immediately felt my blood freeze over in anger. Those thrice-cursed Penitus Oculatus agents…. To the  _Void_  with them  _all!_  They would learn to fear our Dread Father Sithis….

My fingers itched to pull out the daedric daggers in my boots, and sink them deep into the agent's body, twisting and turning them to make his blood spray and gurgle out, hear his screams as he begged for my mercy… taste the metallic tang of the essential lifeblood…. I forced myself to focus, clenching my jaw.

The agent had glared harshly at Cicero, and strode closer. He was an older man, something of a Nord I supposed, by his tall, broad build; his dark blonde hair cropped short like that of all the other soldiers in the Imperial Legion, though he wore the considerably more expensive and distinguishing armor of the Penitus Oculatus. His armor chinked together softly as he moved, standing close to Cicero. I was reminded of when Tar had challenged the agent who had been asking for me and my siblings. I breathed deeply, feeling my senses sharpen even more in my cold rage.

"I suggest you keep your mouth  _shut_ , jester," he half-hissed, half-spat slowly and clearly, finally turning away from Cicero to the now-silent crowd. I hefted the pack higher on my shoulder, and moved closer to Cicero. He shot me a look that shared my feelings about this. He nudged one of the children that were closest to him away, and it got the lot of them scurrying to their parents. I watched the Penitus Oculatus agent warily as his paced along the crowd. "We of the Penitus Oculatus have reason to believe that several members of the Dark Brotherhood frequent this city and this Hold. We have provided your jarl with a description of the distinguishing features of these cowardly cutthroats. If anyone has any information regarding these dangerous individuals, do not hesitate to contact us or your jarl. We strongly advise everyone to avoid any contact with such individuals, and that you avoid entertaining any kind of communication with them – they will not hesitate to kill anyone who might present a threat to them or their pitiful organisation, be it a soldier, a bard, a wife or a child."

Cicero took a step forwards and opened his mouth. I reacted, grabbing him and clamped my hand around his mouth. " _Hmm-mmmm-m! Mmffff! Fm, hmm!_ " he ranted, his words muffed and confused.  
"Shut up! We actually need to get home  _alive_ ," I hissed into his ear, our earlier, happier moments forgotten for the moment. He sighed angrily, frowning. But he relaxed and nodded curtly. I let him go just as the agent turned to look at us. I let my hands drop onto his shoulders, standing closer to Cicero, my temple just brushing against his neck. I kept my face smooth as the agent looked us over before disappearing to another part of the city. "Let's get the last of what we need and go," I breathed, stepping back and turning to the meat stall.

Cicero sulked but followed me, taking the heavy meats once we paid. We glanced at each other, immediately heading south first. We'd take the long way around, and take out anyone who tried to follow us. It was a tense and silent journey – one that  _should_  have been merry and relaxed and full of nonsensical banter. It made me furious.

A trip that should have taken only half an hour ended up taking over much of the rest of the day as we backtracked and covered our tracks and hid and circled around the area. When we finally came back late that afternoon, Aventus was pacing worriedly outside to greet us. He glanced between us uncomfortably. "Keeper, Listener…" he greeted stiffly, shifting his weight and glancing down, his gaze flitting between his boots and us.  
"Inside," I ordered softly, glancing around me once more, and a few seconds later his slightly hesitant murmur of 'Silence, my brother' had us all safe inside the Sanctuary again. I brushed past him, stuffing my bag into his arms. Cicero pulled him along while I headed to Astrid's chambers.

She glanced up with a frown when I rapped the door harshly. "Penitus Oculatus agents know we're in Falkreath. Everyone has to go out in disguises because they've alerted the jarl to our signature armor. We can't head into the city from the west anymore, either. That's why we're so late: one of the agents had a short speech while we were there, explaining  _exactly_  how the people of Falkreath should deal with us," I explained shortly before she could ask.  
Astrid jerked upright in her chair, frowning deeply at the news I brought. "It's gotten that bad, hey?"  
I dipped my head quickly. "We all have to be more careful now. We got what we needed to, but it's going to get harder. Eventually someone from Falkreath will crack and tell what they remember; it's only a matter of when."  
Astrid nodded thoughtfully, her lids heavy as she turned away from me, her head quickly dropping into her hands. "I see. Thank you, Alysa."

I turned and left. I still wasn't fond of her, and the feeling was growing stronger and more mutual with each passing day. The lingering look she gave me when I turned away was enough to make me want to scratch her eyes out and leave bloody, gory holes as masterpieces of my handiwork, her screeches would be the glorious product of my musical genius.

I grinned, heading to the dining hall for food. Cicero and I had successfully managed to skip lunch and eating any snacks in our escape from Falkreath.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Cicero was concerned about those agents closing in on his Family – his Listener, specifically. He wanted to protect her from them and yet, today, she had protected  _him_. If Cicero hadn't been such a fool, hadn't forgotten that one man  _can't_  possibly hope to fight an entire army, dear, sweet Alysa wouldn't have  _had_  to protect Cicero….

"Here, in the cold storage," Cicero corrected Aventus quickly, leading him into a small chamber Festus kept chilled with magic to keep the food for longer – it was just to one side of the dining hall. "Pack here, like so," Cicero pointed, showing his younger brother how to place the meats. Cicero remembers when he used to do this in the Bruma Sanctuary, so long ago… it was one of the things new brothers and sisters had been expected to do while they were training and such.

Cicero started unpacking the fruits, leaving a few carrots in the bag for himself. Even the three sweetrolls Cicero and dear Alysa had bought, Cicero kept for himself. He'd share with his Listener when they were alone: just for the Listener and the Keeper. Cicero smiles. He heard the way she snatched her breath when he had kissed her hair… Cicero had loved that sound, it was one he wanted to hear again, as soon as possible and as often as possible.

"What makes  _you_  smile now, Keeper?" Aventus asked, bitter.  
Cicero had heard about Alysa shooting him down. He almost sniggered. "Oh, this and that, and his sister's hat," I sing, and glance at an upset Aventus. It's was like seeing many different people who looked the same…. Cicero blinked at his thought. Or, was it one person who just looked like many different ones? Cicero thinks that's confusing, but it could very well be true! After all, Cicero was many different people, and still the same one… much like the jester who  _had been_.

But he feels a little sorry for his younger brother: Cicero knows about solitude, and it's not a nice place – the city  _and_  the feeling. "One day; little brother, there will be one you love and who loves you. But there is not one yet: Cicero understands a thing or two about solitude, and he knows it's not a very good place to be in…" he looks back at Aventus. "But Cicero… Cicero will  _not_  be idle if you try to take whatever you feel for the Listener further – you remember all of that from the first day you came here to your new home."  
Aventus just looked at Cicero, and nodded stiffly. Cicero watched him for a short while longer: he suddenly didn't trust this new blood… but he also suddenly felt very sorry for him. I'd keep a closer eye on my little brother after this.

We finished packing quickly – Cicero supposed it was a little awkward after that, too – and Cicero took his sweetrolls and carrots and drew the drawstring on the bag, heading back to the Night Mother. "Hmm… must get all those hard-to-reach places to keep Mother perfect…. Humble, dear Cicero will have a quiet night, he thinks. Cicero could be wrong about his little brother – he  _has_  been wrong a few times before, after all. Maybe Cicero is just over-protective because Cicero finally has someone else, besides you, Mother?"


	19. Life's a Bloody Charm, Really

**Chapter 19: Life's a Bloody Charm, Really**

The green lizard-man-Argonian Veezara came back about three days after Cicero and Aventus had our talk, and Cicero was almost more eager to hear about what he had to say about Solitude and the wedding than Alysa – and she was pacing in the training room until Cicero  _finally_  offered to spar with her – she'd already given Aventus a solid beating (Cicero giggles at  _that_  memory of the young Imperial) – and Cicero found she fought better when she was a little tense; she planned less and reacted more, which was important when staying alive.

But she was still distracted, so it was easy for Cicero to pin her to the ground several times – Cicero was glad it was hard work to fight, because he was sure he had blushed more than once. At least now, Cicero could blame the hard work he was doing on his slightly redder face… hee-hee-hee. Cicero was also glad – in hindsight, of course – that Aventus had stayed to watch and other brothers and sisters flitted in and out and through. It kept the Fool of Hearts a little more focused on the fighting than on the Listener.

When Veezara finally came in, Cicero had tangled with the Listener and held her fast. She was snarling something, and struggling to break free. It would be difficult, but it was possible. "Hm; you've gotten better, Alysa," the Shadowscale hummed gruffly.  
Alysa turned her head to look at him, struggling with Cicero before suddenly going still. She sighed angrily, "Mind if you help me get out of this?"  
"No! Wicked Cicero can't let the Shadowscale help you…. Think a little about it. It's quite–  _oof!_ "  
The Listener had thrown her weight backwards and up against Cicero, and he toppled over. Dear, witty Alysa wriggled free and snatched up a training dagger. She pinned Cicero's arms to his body with her legs, straddling humble Cicero as she put the dagger to his throat. She grins darkly at me. "I guess I win." She stood, holding out a hand for Cicero. "It's about time," she added as a quiet afterthought. Cicero sniggered. "So, Veezara, how was Solitude?" Alysa asked before Cicero could say anything.

The Argonian shrugged. "Not too interesting. The wedding is set for twp months from now – it's the official date – and there are many places to strike from, just few to escape by. It won't be easy, but I almost envy you," he grinned that toothy-lizard grin. "You'll enjoy the challenge, Alysa. And if you've been training with the Keeper…" he just turned away, grin still there. Cicero beamed. I had always been a decent fighter, and once I learnt to fight dirty… few could beat Cicero.

Well,  _Shadowscales_  obviously could, but that was because they were different. Born to kill…. Such a pity this one was the last. And now, Cicero wasn't as young as he had been and he was  _very_  out of practice, so Cicero supposes there would be quite a few who could –  _would_  – beat him.

Cicero and Alysa followed to the alchemy lab, where Nazir and Babette and Festus were busy with who-knows-what. Well, Cicero supposed  _they_  knew what they were doing, but this little group of four didn't know. Aventus was skulking in the back, and Cicero resisted the temptation to glare back at him. The un-child was slouching by her alchemy table, her eyes closed and her little child's chin in her little child's hand. Cicero stared for a while, completely stunned – again – that something so innocent-looking was so dangerous-acting-and-being.

"Ah! Our resident lizard has returned! Tell me, how was Solitude? I hope you weren't too lonely…." Nazir greeted. It seemed not only Cicero liked using that pun….

Cicero and his brothers and sisters laughed, and Cicero heard and then turned to see the horrid wolf-man growl in amusement behind Cicero, his terrible, traitorous  _harlot_  next to him. Cicero sniffed, turning back to the conversation. His fingers twitch-twitch-twitched for his ebony dagger. Oh, sweet Mother and Dread Father, Cicero knows he shouldn't ask this, because it's not what an assassin or a Keeper  _should_  ask, but please, oh please-please-please, stay my thirsty blade. At least for now. A little while longer, please.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I felt better after sparring with Cicero. His last hold on me had left me confused and annoyed that I couldn't break it easily, but it wasn't all that bad. I just hoped I wouldn't get stuck on my knees with my hands pinned behind my back again, and a hold on my throat: Cicero was wicked with his fighting techniques, and I had a feeling he'd enjoy torturing people. Besides, my knees throbbed a little from what I had done to get out of it.  _I wonder what it would feel like to torture someone,_  I thought briefly, returning to my earlier train of thought as the others continued to make jokes.

I'd heard of times when the Brotherhood had taken victims for torture a long time ago…. I brought my focus back to Veezara. I was eager to hear about his scouting, and see what basic sketches he had done of the area to map it out. "Yes, that's wonderful; really it is; but I could care less. What about the wedding reception? Where is it going to be held? What's the security like?" I interjected, stepping forwards and running my fingers through my loose, slightly sweat-damp hair and drawing it into a pony before dejectedly dropping it: I had nothing to tie it with.  
Nazir snorted. "Well, I see you're still yourself, after it all…" he winked.

I scowled back at him, about to fire back a sharp remark when Veezara interrupted. "Still herself? It seems I've missed quite a bit while I was gone. How about some hot food while we talk?"  
Babette stifled a yawn, staring at us blearily. "I've woken up far too early. But I'll make an exception for you, Brother, because this is going to be interesting." She pulled out a red bottle from under her alchemy table, heaving herself up from her chair and – if vampires could – stumbled past us all to the dining hall. We trouped after her, filling tankards with mead and ale, and spooned large bowls of something that might have been Nazir's-turned-Festus's stew. It was a strange taste, but I almost like it the best.

Veezara took his time to get on with it, and I was getting fidgety. I knew he was toying with me a little. "By Sithis, give me the damnable maps you made, at least!" I finally exclaimed. The Shadowscale gave me a toothy grin, pushing his empty bowl to one side and pulling out the rough sketches, laying them out on the table. I looked over them briefly: they were mildly confusing and disorienting, probably to protect him if he had been caught with them. "Explain all of this to me. What's Solitude like? How many people?" I started.  
Veezara rearranged them, and I suddenly saw an entire blueprint of a courtyard before me. "It's in the courtyard of the Temple of the Divines, close to the Castle Dour which could be a potential escape, since it apparently leads to the land outside of Solitude," Veezara paused, taking a breath to continue.

Gabriella interrupted before he could go on, though. "Ah, yes! The parapet over there…" she pointed. "Opposite the balcony. A friend of a friend will leave a little something there for you, my sister, to help with the assassination. I'm sure you will appreciate it.  _If_  you choose to go that way. If you don't, well, my friend  _will_  say he wants it, so I suppose he'll rather prefer it if you  _don't_  go that way."  
I stared at her back as she retreated to the upstairs sleeping area. She had probably just arrived from another contract: I hadn't seen much of her this last week or so. "I see…" I replied, trying hard not to be too confused by her and turned back to the maps. "So this building is the Temple, by the looks of it?" I motioned at the building next to the parapet Gabriella had spoken about.  
Veezara nodded. "Yes. The balcony Gabriella spoke of will be the one Vici gives her speeches from. From what I understand, there will be many throughout the three days. Mostly from her. Also, there is only one entrance to the courtyard – to the right of the lower dais on which the bride and groom will surely be," he sat back for a moment and sipped at his tankard. "I've heard whispers of another way out if you can't get onto the parapets, or out through this arch to the Castle Dour, but whether or not you will get in is another thing; assuming you're willing to take that route."

I'd never seen Veezara look this uncomfortable before. "Which way is this?" I pressed.  
He hesitated before speaking. "In the Temple of the Divines, there are certain catacombs…."  
"Potema's Catacombs?" Festus interjected, frowning deeply. "You would have to be a fool or very desperate before you go down there. Rumor has it the place is crawling with undead."  
Veezara nodded. "Yes. Further whispers say that the new Thane of Solitude had a run-in with those who wanted to summon Potema's spirit in Wolfskull Cave, and that he headed into her catacombs not a month later to deal with her spirit, and destroy her remains. Apparently, it leads into a barrow and barrows always have two exits. Assuming no other undead have moved in, it should still be clear: this happened about a month or so ago, a little while before I was in Solitude. How true any of this is, I wouldn't know; but it could be a last resort to consider."  
I wrinkled my nose instinctively. "I'd rather leave the dead and undead be. I only appreciate the company of one vampire, and that's more than enough for this Nord," I scoffed, scowling.  
"I thought as much," Veezara laughed, and the mood around the table eased.

Even Babette had smiled, and her red bottle was empty – it suddenly occurred to me that she might have harvested blood and stored it for when she needed it. Arnbjorn snorted, and roughly shoved his chair back. "I'm sure the  _Listener_  is more than capable of handling herself; she  _is_  the Night Mother's 'chosen'."  
I raised a brow and followed him with my eyes as he left; pretending to miss Cicero's exasperated hiss and angry mutterings. Astrid followed a short while after. "I'll be back a little later. Sounds like the lot of you have this under control. Keep me updated."  
I turned back to the maps to see Babette pouting over them. "It's no fair. I love weddings," she sulked, almost to herself.  
Nazir laughed. "I'm sure you make the perfect flower girl, little vampire."  
We all sniggered, and our resident vampire glared playfully at the Redguard. "Listen, Alysa, I think I can help you. It's how  _I_  would have done it, anyway," she said, turning back to the maps, glancing at me briefly. "The wedding reception is outside the Temple of the Divines…. So, the bride will probably address the crowd from this balcony, as we've all agreed," she pointed, and grinned darkly at me. "Well, there's an old statue there. I've seen it. Hanging right over where she'll be standing. Old means weak. Weak means it could...  _fall_.  _Hmmm?_ "

I sniggered, and Festus grumbled something about magic being the solution to all problems in the world. I went silent as a sudden thought occurred to me. "Wait, who's the Thane of Solitude?"  
"Some High Elf called Tawarthion; he's also apparently the Dragonborn," Veezara shrugged.  
Aventus nodded eagerly. "Yep! And a high-ranking Stormcloak, too. Alysa – the Listener – and I –"  
"Briefly entertained them when we returned from Riften a few months ago," I growled softly at my younger brother, deepening my scowl when he frowned at me. "He'll definitely be at the wedding, as he told me then."  
"Can you manipulate him enough to use him?" Nazir asked, leaning back into his chair, pulling out a half-carven block of wood and a small knife from somewhere and carefully started carving the block, refining its shape and smoothing edges he thought was done.  
"Cicero didn't know you carved," the Keeper accused, staring at Nazir.  
"There are many things you don't know about me, Fool," Nazir grinned, finally glancing at us. It was the first time I'd seen it, too, but I let it be. We all had different habits and hobbies: this was also the first time I had been in the Sanctuary for as long as I had been here, so close to everyone, so I probably didn't know half the things they did in their free time anyway. I had always preferred it that way, for the simple reason that if there was no-one to care about, there was no-one to lose.

I glanced at Cicero, and saw him frown at Nazir. "Anyway, back to the contract; I don't think so. Maybe, if I could plan the right trick, but I wouldn't bet on it. He's too…" I struggled for the word, frowning. "Un-assassinly; very…" I suddenly remembered the word he had used to describe himself when we first met. "He's too Dovahkiin."  
My Family stared blankly for a moment, and I just shrugged in reply. "Cicero sees how that could be a problem… but what if the mighty Listener hid behind the bride's chair, and –" he leapt up, knocking his chair over and whipping out his dagger, " _STAB-STAB-STAB-STAB-STABBED!_  the bride?" Cicero picked up his chair and sat down, sheathing his blade and grinned brightly. "Or poisoned the drinks with that wonderful poison of Babette's humble Cicero has yet to see in action? Wouldn't that be interesting?!"  
Festus nodded from his side of the table, finally agreeing with something that he might approve of. "Eh, I have a wonderful spell to perfect. Can't say anything just yet, but I do believe it will be my best yet!" he managed to exclaim, wheezing a chuckle, and made his way to the spell-making altar.  
"I think Babette's idea with the statue is perfect," Aventus said, grinning excitedly. "Heck, even poisoning the lot!"  
"Perhaps, but then you kill everyone who is supposed to live to tell the tale," Nazir returned, lifting his carving and studying it as he might study a gem. "Who can tell the story if they're dead? Unless, of course, they're  _un_ dead, and I doubt the Empire will allow Necromancers to practice their art after almost three-hundred years…" his rich laughter rumbled from his chest briefly.  
"Hmm…" I agreed, rolling my eyes when Aventus dipped his head: he should have a little more faith in his plans, and fight for their potential, but I wasn't about to stick up for him, or even point that out.

I shifted uncomfortably, my clothes cool from the training. "I'm going to clean up, then look over these sketches again, and start getting everything together for this assassination. Long live the Dark Brotherhood!"  
"Long live the Dark Brotherhood!" my siblings chorused loudly, and I grinned as they laughed. My gaze met Babette's for a moment, and I thought she mouthed 'Listener', but I couldn't be sure. There was one thing I could be sure of, though: this was it, this was what we had been waiting for, without even knowing it.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Cicero and Veezara – and sometimes Nazir – took over our little brother's training from then on, and days passed quickly as we all helped our beloved Listener prepare for this assassination. The first in many, all to kill the Emperor of Tamriel! Cicero couldn't wait! Oh, how I wanted to go with, to help hunt, and stalk, and kill, with mine and my Listener's skill! Oh, it would be glorious, sweet Night Mother! To honor our Dread Father in such a way… oh, guide and protect your Listener, my Alysa – Cicero knows you will, of course, humble, dear Cicero has never doubted you, not ever!

Well, maybe once or twice, but he has always stayed true! Always gone back to believing! Cicero always will. He just wishes he could have spent a little more time with honorable Alysa before she left – she only had less than a week before she  _had_  to go, anyway, and then she would spend at least one-and-a-bit months on the roads to Solitude – Cicero tried so hard not to sob at that pun, terrible-terrible pun – and perhaps a few weeks and a bit if she cut across the country….

And then there would be a three-day reception, and his dear Alysa would strike – she would bring the Brotherhood glory, and fear and respect once again! Cicero was excited for his Listener, for the Night Mother, for Sithis, and he was beginning to think that all of his brothers and sisters would see that  _pretender's_  heresies, and follow the Old Ways once more, and Cicero knew, he just  _knows_ , that everything will work out, and the  _other_  place will soon need to be filled – with new members, new brothers and sisters as they come, called home by you, Unholy Matron, and guided by our Father. "Cicero is so  _proud_  to be a part of all of this, sweet Mother," Cicero murmurs, gathering his oils and his tools, standing before your closed coffin, ready to oil and clean and preserve and Keep, as a Keeper should.


	20. Bound Until Death, Part I

**Chapter 20: Bound Until Death, Part I**

It was ready! She was leaving, and Cicero felt a little sad. Most of the Sanctuary was going or gone, or still had to come back: Aventus was out on his first with Gabriella, and that horrid, stupid lapdog of the  _pretender_  was also gone – for that, Cicero was thrilled. He had danced and cheered and jeered and shrieked and giggled and cackled with pure ecstasy that the horrid, mean wolf-man was gone! Gone, gone  _GONE!_  I was so happy! But then, so was Babette the un-child and Festus was only due to return after Alysa was gone.

It was just Veezara the Shadowscale, Nazir and the  _pretender_  in the Sanctuary for a few days. But now, the day before dear Alysa was bound to leave, she sat cross-legged in front of the Night Mother's open coffin, looking up into our Mother's face with the look of someone in a deep conversation with someone else. Cicero felt a pang of hurt in his chest that it hadn't been  _me_ who heard your voice, sweet Mother, but I know one can't be Keeper and Listener at the same time.

Cicero just watched, leaning against a table with his arms folded over his motley, cap a little skew, but Cicero would rather watch the Listener than fix it, and his dear Alysa was always enjoyable to watch, oh, Cicero knows he should feel a little guilty about caring and loving for another, but dear Night Mother, would you not have stopped this if it was not what you wanted? Cicero  _had_  always sworn to protect you, and then the Listener, when he or she – though in this case, definitely a  _she_ , sweet Mother – came to be, but even Cicero will admit that he hadn't quite expected this to happen.

But Cicero is not sorry it has! Cicero is very thrilled about it, in fact. Cicero smiles. Oh, I'm so happy, sweet Night Mother, Dread Father: Cicero is humbled, and thanks you for all of it. Now he just needs to find a way to deal with the  _pretender_  and her lapdog. Oh-ho-ho… Cicero will  _definitely_  find a way to deal with them….

 

* * * * * * *

 

When I stood up from my conversation with the Night Mother, and turned to look at Cicero, he had that dark grin on his face whenever he entertained thoughts of 'dealing with' Astrid and Arnbjorn. They were quite infectious, really. I had found a few of my thoughts turn that way whenever one or the other – or even both – irritated me. It was satisfying, but I was beginning to feel like I needed to get out of this Sanctuary, to hunt, to stalk and kill, to feel again the life force of my prey fade away….

I turned again to close the Night Mother's coffin, and faced the Fool of Hearts, taking him in, and his motley, and his skew cap. A half-grin crept up the side of my face. "Alysa," Cicero said softly, his grey eyes twinkling.  
"Cicero," I returned, stepping closer to him.  
"Cicero hopes you have a safe journey, and that you'll come back soon. With the whole of Solitude weeping and seeping in blood and tears, and with a very dead Vici soon to be buried," he winked.  
I smirked darkly at him. "Oh, I'm sure the whole of Solitude will be shocked. It's just the kind of uproar we want," the air suddenly felt heavy with something, something I couldn't place. "I'll be back in a few weeks, maybe a month or two, and then I'll tell you all about it. Should be a lovely wedding reception."  
Cicero giggled, "A 'bloody' good one, tee-hee-hee!"  
I snorted, shaking my head. "Goodbye, Cicero. I should be off."  
The Keeper pushed off from the table, and embraced me. I returned the gesture a little unsurely, my left cheek pressed to his chest. His arms tightened around me briefly, then he let go. "Hunt well, and the Night Mother and Sithis keep you, since you won't have a Keeper," he giggled.  
I flashed my teeth at him. "And you, Cicero."

I turned and left immediately, the heaviness in the air gone and I realized how eager I was to get on the road. My pack lay by the door, and I hefted it onto my shoulders. I scowled a quick goodbye at Nazir when he joked that I'd catch the bride's bouquet, and Veezara had stopped his training briefly to remind me about the potential escapes.

Astrid stood by the Black Door. "Good luck, and bring honor, glory and fearful respect to our Family, Alysa."  
"You know I will," I heaved the Door open, and stepped into a grey morning.  _It will rain soon,_  I thought, tacking up my steed and riding off.  _Now you shall be bound together until death, newlyweds._

A dark grin spread over my face.  _I missed this._

 

* * * * * * *

 

The capital of Skyrim came into view little less than a month later – I had cut across the country – and I couldn't help but marvel at the imposing city perched high over the Sea of Ghosts. I rode up along the road to a small farm where rows and rows of stables were, and left my horse there, tossing a few coins at a young boy who swore up and down to the Divines that he would look after the palomino. I spared him a brief smile and tousled his hair a little grudgingly on my part before hefting my pack a little higher – trying to find a more comfortable spot – and walking up the rest of the way to the capital. Hordes of people were trying to get into the city, and I was glad that I had decided to pull on my plain leather armor before making my way to the road – security had almost doubled what Veezara had told me, and it was difficult to get into the crowded city – I only saw the inside of it by midafternoon, impatiently inching along as the guards stopped certain people and searched their belongings. I was fortunate to escape that.

The grey stone city was brightly decorated with flags and flowers and whatever other fanciful things that came with the wedding – in fact, the place was abuzz with the impending celebrations. The entire city was shutting down for these three days – only the inns and restaurants would stay open to cater for the people. I decided to stay in the Winking Skeever, wondering briefly if I would see Tawarthion there, or if he had bought a house in the city.  _Jarl Elisif probably gave him one since he's a Thane of Solitude,_  I finally thought, dropping my bag at the counter and sighed when the innkeep turned to me.

He was a broad, fat Nord, and wiped his hands on a cloth as he looked at me expectantly. "How can I help you?" he asked, tucking the cloth into the front of his apron and leaned on the counter.  
"I'd like a room for the next five days," I said. I had arrived a day early for the wedding, and I would probably take the first day to see exactly how many people there were before striking.  
The innkeep nodded. "Sure thing. That'll be fifty gold," he half-smiled. "You a guest of the wedding?"  
I scoffed. "No; does it look like I'm rich enough to be invited? And don't you think I'd be staying some place other than this hole?" I handed him fifty septims, and he swept them up greedily, a small frown on his face as he tried and failed somewhat to be polite. I was more than a little grumpy from queuing to get inside, and I wasn't interested in pleasantries and such. I narrowed my eyes slightly as he called a tavern girl to show me to my room upstairs, handing me a key before he shouted across the din to another girl. I followed the first up to my room, dipping my head in thanks as she scurried away. I made myself comfortable in the small room, keeping the majority of my things in my bag, and kicked it under the bed after I folded a few civilian clothes into the small drawers at the end of the bed. I let myself out, locking the door.

When I returned to the common room, I heard the soft voice of a woman singing along to a lute. It was the most beautiful think I had ever heard: soft and gentle, laced with a kind of admiration and emotion that made the song so powerful. I moved closer to the source to see who it was, marveling at the slight shiver that traveled down my back.

" _With a Voice wielding power of the ancient Nord Art,_ " she sang, and she finally came into view.

She must have been a Breton, by her slight build and short stature, but she was beautiful, even dressed in the studded armor she wore. Her hair flowed down over her shoulders and was a light blonde – almost silvery-white – and she had pale green eyes that shone as she sang; her features were all finely sculpted, and she was perfectly curved and rounded in all the right places, and I couldn't help the sudden swell of jealousy that flooded me. What a perfect life she had gotten, while some others got only the scraps…. I wondered briefly if I  _really_  wanted to kill her, just to get rid of the person who fueled my jealousy; I was close to deciding I really wanted her dead.

" _Believe, believe the Dragonborn comes; it's an end to the evil of all Skyrim's foes,_ " she sang on, her fingers gently playing the lute.

A sudden thought struck me: wasn't this Lisette? The very one the Dragonborn was in love with? My jealousy was soothed almost instantly, along with my desire to kill her. If she really  _was_  Lisette, then I couldn't kill her: probably not even if I had been sent to kill her. She was too close to home, and the way Tawarthion had spoken of her… I couldn't destroy something like that, not for any gold or deity in the world, not when I was beginning to feel something similar myself. I watched and listened until she finished her song, smiling as a few patrons tossed a few coins into a bowl at her feet. I pushed through the last of the crowd, and pulled out a few septims myself. "Thank you," she said, cradling her lute.  
I felt my lips twitch weakly in a smile. "You have a gift," I replied, stepping backwards as I straightened. She smiled modestly, and wished me a pleasant stay. I just nodded in return as I tried not to run from the inn. I was missing Cicero far too much….

Once I was outside and wandering through the streets of Solitude, I was able to think a little clearer. I came across a group of bards celebrating what I heard was the Burning of King Olaf, and briefly milled about the festivities, which apparently were held weekly at the behest of Jarl Elisif. I found slightly drunken directions to the Temple of the Divines, and slowly made my way there before it was dark. I managed to get a brief look around, just to see what the place really looked like. The Castle Dour would be difficult to get to, but as long as I was on the parapet walls, I would be able to get there just fine.

I saw the small platform Gabriella had spoken of, and I wondered exactly what she had left there for me. It wasn't particularly eye-catching, and it would be perfect for a ranged attack…. I'd have the night and tomorrow to decide: there was no real reason to rush. Besides, the kill needed to be perfect, and I wanted the world to know that it came from the Dark Brotherhood.

We were the ones to fear, the ones who could get anything done, and nothing could stop us.

Nothing at all.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Before I returned to the Winking Skeever, I made a stop at Radiant Raiment to buy something a little more classy to wear to the wedding. I tried on two dresses, cringing on the inside when I saw that I had to pay almost six hundred septims for them both – so I opted for something more like what I had at the Sanctuary, and still ended up paying double for it.

When I finally returned to the Winking Skeever, a clumsy box under arm, ready to kill an Altmer that crossed my path after the two sisters had seen fit to insult me up, down, left, right and center – which had made me itch to kill them both – it was packed with travelers and residents looking to get drunk and celebrate. I shoved my way through the crowd, almost starting a fight at one point, and finally sank into a chair close to the fire. I leaned my elbows on the table, and put my head in my hands for a moment.

A large serving woman with a low-cut dress hovered over me. "Some'in ta eat, lassie?"  
I almost snapped at her when she called me 'lassie'. "Yes, please," I forced out politely. "And some mead, too." The woman nodded, and disappeared through the crowd, slapping away the wandering hands of several drunk patrons. Someone bumped into the back of my chair just as I faced the front again. I spun round, scowling. "Watch it, idiot!" I snapped, glaring up at the offender. My scowl turned into a surprised expression when I saw the offender's face. "Oops," I said, offering a toothy grin that would have made Cicero proud.

Tar looked down at me with a funny expression on his face. "It's…  _good_ , to see you too," he finally said, chuckling a little. "I take it the crowds haven't left much room to maneuver?"  
"Not in the slightest," I frowned, shaking my head. "So you're here for the wedding and to see Lisette?"  
He nodded, his face lighting up immediately at the mention of her name. "Yes, to both. I've actually been trying to convince Corpulus – the innkeep – to let her come with me to the wedding over the next three days, but he just plain refuses, no matter what I offer him!" he scowled darkly, muttering something I might have heard if the inn wasn't so busy.

"Tar!" a soft voice called, and I recognized the voice and face as that of the bard I had been so jealous of earlier as she touched the elf's arm, and he smiled down at her. I glanced away, suddenly feeling like an intruder. "I take it you didn't have any luck with Corpulus, either…" Lisette added, smiling up at Tar.  
He sighed and shook his head, just as the serving woman from earlier slammed my food and drink down on my table. "Outta tables, sonny. Pair up if ya know each other," and then she was off again.  
"You're welcome to join me if you like," I said, looking back at them. The place was crowded beyond anything I had ever seen – hopefully I wouldn't see it ever again, either. They took me up on my offer after exchanging a glance, and it was a surprisingly pleasant time with both of them. Tar informed us that Uthgerd had gone home to Whiterun to be with her sister for a while, and I told them that my half-brother had been called back to Windhelm for guard duty when Tar asked about Aventus– the poor thing couldn't wait to get out into the field, I'd said.

Eventually the topic had strayed again to Vici's wedding, and I asked about the plans for the next three days. Tar had sighed heavily, swirling the red wine in his goblet and grumbled about sitting through speeches of all sorts the first day for the whole day from both parties – thankfully, he added, he wasn't required to say anything and the Altmer had no plan to, either.

Vici would be making her speeches the following two – apparently she was quite full of herself.  _Perfect for what I had planned,_  I thought. Lisette then went on to add that all the citizens of Skyrim had been invited to see the wedding, though surely not all would make it into the area – that explained the public holidays, amongst other reasons.

I hadn't stayed very long after we had finished dinner, opting instead to leave the two of them in relative peace. I glanced over at the innkeeper before I headed up the stairs to my room, the cumbersome box under my arm again.  _Yes, some gentle persuasion is all that he needs…._  I grinned darkly at him as he shouted out orders, and tromped up the stairs to my room. I spent some time working on a few basic plans, knowing that I'd have a much better idea of how and what by the end of tomorrow.

I pulled on the dress after a quick trip to the washrooms to make sure it fit the way it was supposed to, and stared at myself in the mirror, thinking that I would have liked to have Cicero with me for this. I finally pulled the garment off, changing into a more comfortable robe, and collapsed into bed. I slept easily, stirring slightly throughout the night as the noise from below got a little extreme now and again.

I dreamed about the assassination, and when I woke in the morning I almost couldn't believe that I wasn't covered in the blood of my target – and the few others that dared get in my way. I couldn't wait: a dark smirk spread over my face as I thought of the last pieces falling together as a red dawn broke through my window; the last pieces to the beginning of the end of the Dark Brotherhood's misfortune, and the people's lack of respect to my Family.

Let the hunting begin.


	21. Bound Until Death, Part II

**Chapter 21: Bound Until Death, Part II**

The Winking Skeever was surprisingly empty by the time I headed downstairs for an early breakfast in my dress, pointedly ignoring the few lingering gazes of scattered men and one or two women. I ordered breakfast and ate quickly, deciding I'd rather spend some of the day wandering the city to get to know a few escape routes, and see if I couldn't stash my pack and possessions somewhere outside the city for me to fetch at a later stage, should I be separated from them for whatever good or bad reason.

I wandered through all of Solitude for the better half of the morning, memorizing niches and hiding spots that could prove useful. The city was immense, and I had no doubt they'd put it in lock-down as soon as Vici was killed. That meant I wouldn't be able to escape for at least a week if I couldn't get out via the Castle Dour, or even the Catacombs – I'd leave the Catacombs as a backup for my backup – and when they eventually  _did_  lift the heavy security to allow people in and out again, they'd surely stop almost everyone and search bags.

How exciting!

The chances of getting caught raised the stakes, made the kill even more tantalizing… I grinned, walking over to the Temple of the Divines. I let my smile fade away gently, looking up at an Imperial soldier as I made my way closer to the courtyard where I could hear a man give a long-winded speech about prosperity and peace and honor and other political nonsense. The soldier moved to block me. I smiled gently. "I'd like to head into the Temple, please," I explained. They couldn't deny us religion, not even for the Emperor's wedding. He nodded stiffly, motioning at a younger soldier to walk with me.  _Lots of high-profile people. Is that…_ Amaund  _I see over there?_  I wondered, catching a glimpse of a Breton who looked a lot like my client. I grinned at the thought that he might be here, and headed into the Temple.

It was quiet, and cool inside. The soldier hasn't come in with me, so I could wander through the place with relative ease. The priest and two priestesses were kneeling by the many shrines, their heads bowed in prayer. I wondered again – surely for the millionth time – if their gods ever heard them. I knew Sithis and the Night Mother heard me; I knew the daedra often chose mortal champions, but the Divines?

I frowned slightly, shaking my head as I explored the upper levels first. A door led to the outside, and I stood on the balcony Gabriella had promised to leave a surprise on. There was nothing here now, but I had no doubt that she had already known my plan of action. It gave me a wonderful view of the courtyard, and the balcony where, what I assumed was, an Imperial Legionnaire was giving yet another well-wishing and political speech. I was surprised that I found no Thalmor in the crowd….  _I suppose it's not really any of their business._

I looked up, trying to see if I could scale the wall and from the parapets make my way to the Castle Dour. For the limited amount of space, I'd need a rope dangling down to help me up.  _Too vulnerable to archers,_  I scowled. I'd come back for Gabriella's gift anyway, and see if it would be useful to me. I went back inside the Temple, and found the crumbling stone passages to Potema's Catacombs.

I eyed them warily, agreeing with Festus that they were a fool's or a desperate assassin's escape. And there was no guarantee that the barrow it led into would have another exit, or if that exit was even viable to use. Assuming I could even get through them – surely some kind of dark magic also protected the place, regardless of whether or not Tawarthion had cleared the catacombs a few months ago – or something like that.

I was scowling deeply when I returned to the main hall within the Temple, and sat down on one of the pews, my head bowed as if in prayer. I stayed for a few moments, then smoothed my features and left, right as one of the priestesses seemed to look my way.  _There is only one way in and out of here…_  I reminded myself when I stood in the courtyard again.

The same soldier as earlier escorted me out. "Will the reception be open to the public?" I asked, lifting my brows as I looked innocently at the soldier.  
He nodded quickly, glancing away from me. "Yes," he said stiffly – he sounded nervous. I almost grinned. "Tomorrow and the day thereafter the public will be allowed to see the lady Vittoria and her husband, Asgeir Snow-Shod."  
I smiled brightly at him, smirking on the inside at the light blush on his cheeks. "Oh, thank you!" I half-giggled, leaving the baffled soldier with his furious superior.

I headed up a long flight of stairs to the parapets, and a very abandoned-looking Thalmor Headquarters building was on my right. Castle Dour was a bit of a stretch to the left. I walked closer to my escape, seeing it was something more akin to a dungeon and the Imperial Legion Headquarters. I'd have a hard time getting past the guards without a fight, but so long as I had a bow I could shoot down one, maim another and have my blades ready for the last two. I smiled shyly at those guarding the doors, and headed inside.

I must have wandered through at least three times before I came to the conclusion that there was no way I could escape from here – unless I took the door out on the southern side and used the stairs in a tower to go all the way down to the Winking Skeever. If I was fast, I could maybe push through the gates before they could call lock-down and be out on my way home. I was mildly angry – this was entirely useless and Castle Dour was nothing more than a death-trap! Unless there was a restricted area to the outside, and one person can only do so much visual scouting and ask so many questions before it becomes suspicious.

I couldn't remember exactly what Veezara had said about Castle Dour, but I had a strange suspicion Astrid might have something to do with it. I shook my head and gave up for today. Tomorrow was the day, and I would improvise. Besides, assassins can't always count on plans working perfectly.

I bought lunch from a small stall, and bought several yards of rope from another, which I used to make my escape from Gabriella's balcony. I was wandering back to the inn when a familiar, green face appeared in the crowd ahead. I blinked once: why was Veezara here, dressed as richly as he was? He nodded at me, then turned down one of the alleys.

I followed immediately.

Veezara was leaning against a wall when I reached him in the narrow alley, a toothy smile on his face. "It's good to see you too," I said softly in reply to his grin. "What are you doing here?"  
"I had a nearby contract, and thought I'd come to Solitude and see of you needed help with the escape. Not that I doubt you – it could just be the difference in seconds between being outside Solitude or outside a jail cell until they eventually find you, if you'd like my help."  
My lips turned upwards darkly for a moment. "I appreciate it. But what if you get caught or killed? It's not as if we have so many  _dispensable_  siblings; and besides – you're the last Shadowscale. Someone has to teach the next Argonian who turns out to be like you."  
Veezara grinned slyly. "Let's just say I'm not as alone as I thought I was. And I know all of that – I still want to help. So, what about Castle Dour? Can it work?" My scowl gave away my feelings. "So it wasn't quite as useful as I heard and assumed it would be…" Veezara trailed.  
"Heard it would be?"  
"Astrid mentio–"  
"That conniving  _harlot!_ " I hissed, wishing I could stab someone. Veezara stared on, shocked. "After  _everything_  I've done to keep her happy, keep her as my  _leader_  and she  _still_  tries to undermine everything that's beyond our control!" I seethed.  
"Alysa, slow down! You surely don't mean any of that…?" the Shadowscale was standing now, his arms at his sides.  
I glared up at him. "I do. I really, really do. If you still want to help it's up to you. I strike tomorrow, and I'll be staying at the Winking Skeever."

I turned and left. Oh, when I get back to the Sanctuary….  _Astrid, you had better start_ praying _for our Mother and Sithis' mercy…_.

 

* * * * * * *

 

My Argonian brother ended up staying in the Winking Skeever, too – bought the best room for a ridiculous price, but after threatening to take his business elsewhere got the room for less than half with any services he desired. If I hadn't still been furious about Astrid's little plot, I'd have been impressed. After storming away from Veezara, I had taken my pack down to the farm where my horse was stabled, hiding it between the back wall of the stable and a feed trough. After some debate I left my quiver and bow there as well. The horse actually seemed glad to see me, so I stopped for a moment to stroke it, and when the boy came my way again I tossed him a few more coins. He almost dropped them he was so shocked. He didn't even notice that a pig was missing, or the heavy, red-stained waterskin I carried away with me. I had what I needed to leave a signature.

Either way, I was back in the Winking Skeever, and the place was crammed again. I left for my room, and checked that I had everything I needed – lockpicks, daedric daggers (both in perfect condition), my armor, cloak, the dress I was wearing, and one small vial of frost poison. I also had my waterskin full of pig's blood which I would use to leave a little something at the wedding.

An artist always signs their artwork, not so?

 _Everything I need_ , I thought with a smirk, and carefully bundled everything together and pulled on the robes I took with me every time I left the Sanctuary. I cleaned up, pulled my robes on and fell asleep fairly easily – I couldn't wait for dawn.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I stood in front of the mirror that morning, scrutinizing myself. My hair was pulled back into a low bun to fit under my cowl, my armor just hidden under the crudely modified dress and cloak – thank Sithis the day was turning out to be cold, so I wouldn't look too out of place – daggers strapped on my thighs, the poison and blood tied onto my belt. I was ready.

Breakfast was light and fast, and I overheard Lisette trying to convince Corpulus to let her go to the wedding – just for one hour, then she'd be back, she swore. He had kept refusing, eventually sending her off with an irritated look on his face while she looked close to tears. I scowled in their direction.  _A little gentle persuasion should do it,_  I thought, standing and walking towards Lisette. "Come on, we're going to the wedding."  
She stared at me a little blankly. "But, what about –"  
"He's not a problem, let's go," I said, making a split-second decision to grab her wrist and pull her along behind me. I was grateful for the standard-issue Dark Brotherhood gloves between my skin and hers, though. I had barely ushered her out of the door when Corpulus stopped us. "Go," I commanded, shoving Lisette out into the streets of Solitude before sauntering back to the innkeep.  
"What do you think you're doing taking her out of  _my_  inn?"  
I glanced around the empty common room dramatically. "I don't see anyone down here who would miss her. Your patrons are either in their rooms nursing a good, old-fashioned hangover from your alcohol, or they're all down at the wedding already," I smiled darkly.  
Corpulus almost growled at me, storming up and breathing down on me. My nose wrinkled on instinct at his stench, and my daedric dagger was in his belly as soon as he stood close to me. "Now, you'll let her go, or I'll be forced to satisfy my curiosity," I murmured, looking up at the blanched man. Up close I could tell he was mostly fat. "See, I always wanted to know what would happen if I sliced and diced a fat man like yourself – would fat ooze out, like blood, or would it be hard? And stop me, or punish Lisette for this, and Sithis knows I wouldn't be so open to…  _persuading_  you again."

I turned and left without a second glance at the man. My blade already sheathed and hidden before I reached the door.

 

* * * * * * *

 

"Are you ready?" a soft reptilian voice murmured by my ear. I was listening to the umpteenth speech Vici was giving, and each one was met with fervor from the crowd.  
"Always," I breathed, turning around and weaving my way across the courtyard to my balcony. The crowd was thick, but still every now and then I had seen Lisette and Tawarthion in some place, smiling to each other with stolen touches and kisses that made me long for Cicero.

But the hunt was much closer, and the thought of all the chaos I would cause was enough to make me feel a bloodlust I hadn't felt since I had returned from my meeting with Amaund. I raced up the stairs to the balcony, tearing off the dress easily and stuffed it behind a pot plant, pulling up my cowl and hood. When I opened the door at the top of the stairs, I smiled at Gabriella's gift. It was a bow – elvish in make, so it was lighter and more ornate than my daedric bow, along with a quiver of five elvish arrows and a Philter of True Shot. I crouched, quickly tugging on my rope to make sure it was still in place before I drank the potion. I was a fair shot, but I'd only have one chance at this: it wouldn't do to mess it up. I put the waterskin on the floor next to me, holding it up carefully as I used a dagger to cut the lip off to let me put my hand inside. The blood spilled out a little as I touched the palm of my gloved hand to the surface of the blood, and pressed it against the cold, grey stone next to me. I let the skin go, and it sagged under the weight of the blood, spreading in a deep crimson pool. I grinned, thrilled at the sight. I picked up the bow, and one arrow. I could feel the potion hard at work in my system: I knew the exact way to shoot for the perfect kill. I popped open my bottle of poison, dipped the arrowhead in and stood as I drew the bow. Vici was prattling on about peace and her day is everyone's day, a new day for Skyrim.

I fired.

She stopped speaking, gurgled. I smiled: my arrow was in her throat.

Her husband was shocked. Someone screamed.

I was racing up the wall, along the parapets over the balcony Vici had been speaking from, down the other side into the residential area of Solitude. Bells tolled loudly as the crowd started screaming and shouting.  _So alive_ , I grinned broadly under my cowl, ripping it down and flying into a small courtyard of a house, my fingers already working the picks to open the lock. I let myself in and shut the door. I would be able to hide behind the many barrels and crates in the basement I found myself in. Apparently, the owner liked wine: lots of wine. I crouched down in my new hiding spot, thinking to wait it out for a few hours while Veezara worked his magic.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I dozed occasionally, and sometimes scratched around in the crates that opened silently, and found an old, slightly musty dress that was a bit big for me, but something I could use to get out – I'd need to take off my armor and fold it into a piece of canvas I found – and when it finally turned to twilight I heard voices in the house, coming down into the basement. "Oh, that's awful! And you were there, my Thane?" a young woman's voice asked.  
"Yes, Jordis. I just don't know how this could have happened, or who did it. I doubt the Argonian they caught had anything to do with it, though… it just seems too easy…" a man's voice trailed. It was a surprisingly familiar voice, too… I just couldn't place it. I kept listening, curious as to what Veezara had told them.  
"And didn't they find a handprint on a balcony, with a bow called Firiniel's End and a pool of blood? Could it be the… you know, the…" the woman – Jordis's – voice dropped to a whisper as if she was afraid someone might hear them.  _And someone does_ , I thought smugly. A few glass bottles clinked together, and then against wood. "They did, yes. And it could be the Dark Brotherhood. I just can't imagine them sending out a member to take the blame while the other escaped; it's the only thing that explains what happened and their numbers are too low to allow for this. And the Argonian only mentioned that he knew who did it, not that  _he_  committed the murder." The man shoved a bottle back onto a shelf somewhere. "There's something very off about this, and Ulfric should know about it as soon as possible. Would you find Lisette for me, and bring her here? She said she was going back to the inn, and while I doubt anything would happen to her there, I'd feel better if she was closer to me."

 _Sweet Night Mother_ , I cursed mentally. What a house I had picked to break into. Jordis agreed to Tawarthion's request, and I heard her steel-booted feet disappear out the basement door. The Altmer sighed, finally selecting a wine that suited his mood and disappeared upstairs. I had moments to get out and away from here. Thank the previous brothers and sisters in my Family for having developed armor that was easy to put on and take off.

I was dressed and my things wrapped in canvas in record time, and after a quick scan of the indoor area, headed out. I had my cloak on to hide the change in clothes, and the canvas bag was cradled in my arms. It was surprisingly easy – I was almost suspicious of it. I passed Lisette and a dark blonde woman whom I presumed was Jordis, but neither saw me, thankfully. I made my way to the inn without trouble, and apparently the guards had already dealt with 'the Argonian' as the Shadowscale had been dubbed. I asked one of the maids to bring bread and cheese up to my room, and after that cold dinner I changed into my Brotherhood robes. I would find out a little more in the morning and leave then. For now, it was a job well done, and I fell asleep with a smile on my face.


	22. Homewards

**Chapter 22: Homewards**

_An ancient Nordic ruin appeared before me, and a stocky, dirty Breton woman with black circles under her eyes and armed to the teeth with greatswords, bows and daggers and heavy, dented steel armor sat cross-legged by a small campfire._  Four Skulls Lookout. The Breton, Dabien Tailas, must die.

 _The scene jumped, and I squeezed my eyes shut against the sudden vertigo. When I opened them, I looked on the face of a Dunmer man. He looked about thirty by mortal standards – a little younger than Gabriella, anyway – and he slept peacefully, his harsh features smooth and happy in sleep. I suspected he must have been a noble, but he was asleep in a bedroll, hidden away in a sheepfold._  He has killed, and our Dread Father wishes him to join our Family, Listener. Find him at Dragon Bridge….  _I recognized the faint whisper to be the Night Mother's voice._  Go!

I jolted awake, gasping; a cold sweat on my brow. A glance out the window said it was still at least three hours before dawn. I swept the last of my things together, dressed and hurried down where a bleary-eyed maid gave me a breadloaf for a coin. I don't think she realized what she was doing.

I was out the gates not much later, and the cursing of a guard to another paused me for a moment. "They're letting the lizard go today, some time after noon, and we have to let the bastard out these gates as if he's completely innocent. Turns out what he meant was he  _suspected_  the Dark Brotherhood and that he actually knows nothing of Skyrim politics. I still think he did it, somehow…."

I grinned: Veezara would be fine. He'd be a day behind me, but he'd be fine.  _Thank you, Night Mother; Sithis,_  I thought quickly, finding my horse's tack and stall easily once I reached the farm. The poor creature was lying down, dozing and complained loudly when I tried to convince him to wake up so I could tack up. It took a good deal more coaxing to get him to move, but we were finally on our way home. Home to Cicero, with one – maybe two – short pitstops: after all, a brother was being welcomed into the Family. I was beginning to wonder if we'd have another sister sometime soon….

 

* * * * * * *

 

Cicero sighed heavily. And Cicero sighed lightly, and then once more. "Cicero doesn't like this much, not anymore, no-no-no!" he complained under his breath – see, Cicero hadn't had much to do for the past week, except look after Mother and train with Festus twice before the Wonderful Wizard of Skyrim left for a contract. The conniving harlot-pretender seemed too pleased with herself – and a little jumpy, too (it made Cicero happy, really) – but it made her look for things that were wrong, and Cicero overheard her many-a-time – too often, too many times for far too long – complain about him and their Unholy Matron and dearest Alysa… what was Cicero saying?

Oh, silly Cicero – he misses that lovely, little ice-cold-dangerous assassin-Listener so very much – was saying that the harlot-pretender was complaining about the Old Ways and dear Alysa being the Listener, and undermining her authority! I had almost attacked her there and then the first time; my beloved little Nord had obeyed every whim and command of the  _pretender_  even though she far, far  _FAR_  outranked the pretender. And then that  _wolf_  is always nearby, always read to snap and poor, humble Cicero…. So he is forced to stay away from them! All the time! It gets lonely to be locked away in his chambers all the time, sweet Night Mother, even though Cicero  _does_  love and adore your company; Cicero always will love and adore your company! For as long as he lives and forever in the Void!

Cicero flops down in front of the Night Mother's coffin, legs-crossed and chin-on-elbow-on-knee. "Oh, sweet Mother, sweet Mother, Cicero just asks that you will ask Sithis if He will let this humble Keeper caper and jest in the Void – it must get awfully boring otherwise, he thinks. But I'm not dead or in the Void, so I wouldn't know. Maybe Cicero would be able to kill all the people who were killed  _before!_  All the targets… ah, Cicero would like that! He would like it very much indeed…" he trailed, staring up at the coffin.  
"I'm sure it'll be very interesting once you go to the Void, dear Brother," a young voice said.

It was the un-child! Babette! She had spent a little more time with Cicero lately, and while Cicero appreciated her company, he finds her very very very disconcerting. Cicero is never really comfortable with her – he's much more comfortable with Aventus. The boy learns quickly! He's been on three contracts since Alysa left; Cicero is very proud of the training he and his brothers – and sometimes sisters, too – have put into the boy. He's much quieter now, sharper, too. Though not  _outside_ , because then it would hurt to be close to him but Cicero means on the  _inside_  he's sharper – like a very clever assassin-to-be. Cicero wonders if there will be another member soon… I hope so. I want the Family to grow! Expand! Conquer with fear and blood! For Sithis and the Night Moher! "…Cicero?"  
"Sorry – Cicero wasn't here. Well, he  _is_  he just  _wasn't_. How can Cicero be of assistance to you?"  
The un-child grinned, shaking her head. "Would you like to train with me? It's been a while since I've done something fun that's not alchemical. You're also fairly bored yourself…" the un-child grinned.  
"Cicero thinks he might regret this, but he'll say yes. Just, don't kill Cicero, please?"

 

* * * * * * *

 

I arrived at Dragon Bridge roughly four days later, and I checked into Four Shields Tavern. I hadn't seen the Dunmer man in my dreams yet, but I had no doubt he'd still be in the little town. It was midday, and I settled in for mildly tense wait – this was the base for Penitus Oculatus agents, after all. I kept my cloak wrapped tightly around my armor, and sat down stiffly at the bar, ordering food and drink to while away some time while I waited for the Dunmer.

The sun was beginning to set when he finally walked in. The entire cocky-noble attitude was almost visible around him, much like a magical cloak. I rolled my eyes, turning back to focus on my copy of a tatty Black Horse Courier article, the date faint in a top corner from being taken and read by patrons then discarded on cluttered, dirty tables. The Dunmer's voice was silky and self-assured as he charmed the woman behind the counter to give him a free meal. I grinned as I bent over the article, the black words melting into each other as I focused on what I hoped would be my newest brother.  _A sister would be nice, if there are any to be found,_  I thought, turning to look at the Dunmer again. His gaze met mine and he shot me a crooked and charming grin, winking as he sat down in another dark corner. My fingers itched for my blades – he was the kind I killed for fun because of glances at me like that. But he would be my brother, this time. "Lucky you," I murmured under my breath, watching and waiting until the Dunmer disappeared.

After enough debate and finally a coinpurse of thirty gold later I had the general location of where he spent his nights – he looked after the sheep on a nearby farm and was probably there. The innkeep and her assistant watched me warily as I made for my room. Midnight would be when I spoke to this Dark Elf, and hopefully he had enough common sense not to test me further.

 

* * * * * * *

 

The Dunmer been easy to find, really – once my horse had been convinced to come out of his stall quietly. My steed blew softly when I crouched, one of my daggers in hand. I had my hood over my head, my cowl pulled over my mouth and nose. The scene was exactly as the Night Mother had shown me in my dream. A broad, pleased smirk made my flash my teeth at the sleeping elf as I snuck closer, carefully positioning myself over him once I removed the most visible of his weapons from his reach.  _Dagger in the right, free hand at the ready…._  I clamped my hand over his mouth, his eyes flew open and before he could struggle I touched my blade to his neck, pleased with the way he stiffened; the feel of his skin under my dagger. I smirked at him. "Good evening, Brother. Sithis has seen; he knows what you've done. And so he has sent me, through the Night Mother, to offer you a unique chance. Will you hear me out?"  
He blinked a few times, a strange light in his eyes before he nodded slowly. I released the Dunmer, and moved to crouch between him and the only escape from this sheepfold, keeping my balance and my blade out. He propped himself up on an elbow, an incredulous look on his face, about to say something but I cut in before he could. "I want you to join our Family; a Family of like-minded people, each noticed by the Night Mother and Sithis, each with gifts and talents such as yours. What say you?"  
The Dunmer man stared at me, his grin growing with each passing second. "The Dark Brotherhood?" he breathed reverently. "Yes, yes of course I will! I –"  
"Then you must prove it. There is a woman – a Breton, called Dabien Tailas – not far from here, located at Four Skull Lookout. Kill her, and when you are in a place that is safe for us to meet again, I will come to you. If you choose not to kill her, then so be it.  _I_  would suggest you do." I sheathed my dagger and stood, backing away as I prepared to leave. "Wait!" he called, stopping me. I cocked my head to one side. "What should I know about this Breton woman? Any…  _specifics_ … concerning her death?"  
"From what I know, she is wary, paranoid that someone will find her and kill her. She's a fighter too, so she should be a pleasurable kill."  
The Dunmer nodded, his teeth flashing in the dark. "It will be done, m–"

Whatever he added was lost to the wind: I was already on my steed's back, his hooves flying across the country.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I was almost in Falkreath when I finally had another dream – the Night Mother showed me the Dunmer sleeping in a bed in the inn. I was barely a day away from the city – I could make a quick stop, bring in my prize. The thought of Astrid's face when she saw another member come in with me… it was almost better than imagining what it would be like to kill her.

I didn't actually go into the city, but left my horse at the clearing and went in on foot. A handful of coins had the stable boy tell me exactly which room the Dunmer was in, exactly how to unlatch the window silently from the outside to get in.  
The door to the main room was locked from the inside of my new brother's room, and I made myself comfortable on the drawers as I waited for the cool autumn breeze to wake him up. I toyed with a dagger, ignoring his stare as I grinned – not that he would have seen it in the dark, and definitely not since I was wearing my cowl again.

"You came back," he said.  
"Of course. Now you are one of the Family, my brother." I finally looked at him. He was sitting up now, straight and square as a noble had been taught since birth. "What should I know about my new Family? Are there any rules?"  
I held up a hand, my fingers splayed in the air. I was really enjoying the dramatics of the evening. "Five Tenets. We have five rules by which our Family lives, Brother, and they are as follows," I breathed in, hoping I would get them right – strangely, it was as if the Night Mother started speaking through me, the words coming seconds before I spoke them. "The First Tenet: Never dishonor the Night Mother. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis." I was glad that I still wore my cowl – I was smirking under it.  _More like the Wrath of Cicero_. "The Second Tenet: Never betray the Dark Brotherhood or its secrets. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis. Third Tenet: Never disobey or refuse to carry out an order from a Dark Brotherhood superior. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis. Fourth Tenet: Never steal the possessions of a Dark Brother or Dark Sister. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis. The Final Tenet: Never kill a Dark Brother or Dark Sister. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis. I am the Listener, and I know when these are broken. Our Family resides to the west of Falkreath. When you find the Black Door, you will be asked a question. Respond with: 'Silence, my Brother', and the Door will open, and you will come home."

I stood from my seat and slipped my blade back into its sheath on my thigh. "You may encounter some resistance from a woman called Astrid. Tell her the Listener came to you, told you to come to the Sanctuary."  
I was almost out the window when he spoke again. "My name is Uvelaes Nilera, Listener."  
I glanced at him from my perch on the sill, and took off – I only got back to the Sanctuary at dawn, making sure I wasn't followed or seen, and collapsed against the inside of the Door with my pack at my feet, my eyes closed.

I was home again.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Cicero heard it! He was sure! Or, was he sure…? No! No, Cicero was very sure! She was  _BACK!_  "Humble Cicero shall return, Aventus!"  
The boy was staring after Cicero all confused – it was funny, really – and Cicero bolted for the Black Door. When he finally got closer, he tip-top-toed up the last bit to see dearest Alysa leaning against the Door, eyes closed and grinning, pack on the floor at her feet. Cicero clasped his hands behind his back, stepped up the stairs to the Most Honorable Listener. Her smile softened. "Hello, Cicero."  
Cicero almost squealed, trying so hard not to bounce! To giggle and laugh! To hug her and squeeze her and–  
And Cicero paused for a moment.  _And_ kiss _her…._  Cicero reached out and cradled her face. Her cold, pretty blue-grey eyes opened. Cicero leaned closer.

"Alysa?"

Cicero sighed, grumbled-mumbled to himself, "Harlot, pretender, offender!"  
Alysa giggled; Cicero thought he saw a blush. "It'll get worse in a bit, I think," she flashed a smile at me, slipping out of mearms and pulled me and her pack around with her. "I'll see what she wants and then I'll tell you all about the wedding – I think I made quite the impression!" she sniggered, and Cicero cackled with her.  
Oh, an impression?! What did she do?! "Cicero won't be patient but he'll wait! He wants to know  _every. Single. Detail._ "

"If you're back, Alysa, come to me. We need to talk!" the pretender called again.

"Every one. I promise," she hurried down the stairs to the pretender, not bothering to reply to that  _harlot_.  
"Such a Listener! Such and honorable and glorious Listener!" Cicero sang, and skipped down the stairs and down the stairs back to Aventus. They  _had_  been training – pickpocketing, of course; the best time to train for it was so early in the morning – and Cicero meant to finish it. "Continue, brother!"

 

* * * * * * *

 

"Astrid," I greeted, my teeth clenched just slightly, adjusting my pack to a more comfortable position. I wasn't entirely sure what Cicero had wanted to do, but I could have sworn he was going to kiss me. And  _she_  had interrupted.  
"Alysa," Astrid said cheerfully, her voice far too sugary. "So you're back. I hear that a bloody handprint was found on a balcony when Vici was murdered…. And in the middle of giving a speech, too."  
I looked at her smugly with half-closed eyes. "Whispers are going around that the Dark Brotherhood isn't as weakened as previously thought. Veezara should be back in another day or two – we met along the road." I couldn't afford to tell her he had helped me - I had a feeling he had been out on his own mission when he ended up in Solitude.

I focused on Astrid again, and she nodded, her eyes shining – I wasn't entirely sure what from, though. I saw too many mixed emotions there to pick out any single one. "With Vici's murder, you've started us down a path the Dark Brotherhood hasn't traveled in centuries: the assassination of an  _Emperor!_  And now, your reward," Astrid smiled coyly, and I was suddenly suspicious. She turned to dig in a drawer, and came back with a scroll, holding it out to me. I took it cautiously. "It's a unique spell to summon a legend of the Dark Brotherhood. His soul serves us now in death, as his body once did in life. He will fight by your side when you need him." I dipped my head – he could prove useful in days to come. "Also, your reward – one thousand gold. It was a job well done." A large bag was handed to me. I could barely suppress my surprise: it had taken me many long years to finally scrape this much together for one horse and now I was getting it for one easy kill. As a bonus. I let a half-grin escape. "It was my pleasure. Is there another part to this contract I need to take care of, or is there some time?"  
"There is some time. Gabriella is working on the next part. She's been assisting me: this Emperor business, well… it does involve everyone." Her eyes darkened for a moment, then cleared. "Well, I won't keep you. I'm sure you'd like some rest."

I walked out, mildly angry at the curt dismissal. I wasn't about to complain too loudly, though – Uvelaes still had to arrive and that would be revenge enough. I passed Aventus trying desperately to pickpocket Cicero, and failing miserably. It was quite funny, really. I passed quickly to deposit my rewards in my chest and unpack my things. I bathed quickly in the adjacent chambers and pulled on a clean set of robes and took out the scroll Astrid had given me. I sat on my bed and tried to read it.

It was written in an arcane language I couldn't read, let alone understand – what I did understand was the name 'Lucien Lachance'. I sighed, rolling it up and heading to the lab where Babette and Festus might be. I found the latter over the Spellmaking Altar, muttering and grumbling to himself. I waited until he straightened before speaking. "Could you help me with this, Festus?" I asked, holding out the scroll. He frowned and grumbled some more by snatched it from me, scanning it over.  
"Where did you get this?" he asked when he finally looked up again.  
"It's my reward for killing Vici. How do I use it?"  
"Eh. It's quite simple, really – but I suppose you can't say the words, can you?" I frowned at Festus. "Very well," he continued. "I'll try not to kill you while I teach you."  
My eyes widened as I suddenly realized something. "Do I have to say that  _whole thing_  every time I want to summon this Lucien Lachance?!"  
Festus simply glared at me. I clenched my jaw as he scanned the document again, and waved it at me impatiently. I was suddenly suspicious of the idea of magic again. "Go on, take it! You may be the Listener, Alysa, but you're still a fool sometimes," he chided. I rolled my eyes and took the scroll, while he moved to stand next to me so we could both read the scroll.

After some tutoring and confusing explanations – at the end of which Festus finally told me all I needed to do to summon this specter was focus on him appearing and saying his name three times – I finally managed to summon a very cloudy and shapeless version of Lucien Lachance, and naturally he didn't stay for long. My Breton brother explained something about too many summoners and not enough magicka or something arcane I didn't really need or want to understand. The whole ordeal left me feeling… strange. I didn't like it.

I found Cicero still with Aventus and finally stopped their lesson by almost successfully pickpocketing the jester. Even I had been surprised by my luck. I finally coaxed them both to join me for a late breakfast, and Nazir was at the table briefly, too – mostly to hear about my contract in Solitude.  _Ah, I'll be telling this story until the next one comes up,_  I thought happily, sipping at a fine tankard of mead.  _It's good to be home after a kill._


	23. Nothing Like Revenge

**Chapter 23: Nothing Like Revenge**

" _ALLYSSSAAAA!_ "

I put down my tankard, a broad, smug grin plastered over my face. Astrid's shriek almost rang throughout the entire Sanctuary. I looked around the table at my brothers, and Cicero giggled. "What did you do, O Great Listener?"  
"Wouldn't  _you_  like to know?" I said, pushing out my chair, still grinning as Astrid shrieked my name again. I walked over to the training area, my brothers all in tow and trying hard not to giggle as Cicero was desperately trying to make me tell him what was going on. Before I could stop him, or say anything, Astrid let loose another furious shriek about what she would do if she found me – naturally making Cicero fume and sputter out a few of his own interesting insults – Babette's tired voice called out: "Shut up, girl! And respect your Listener's actions!"

Everyone turned to stare at her, the Sanctuary silent. Astrid wore a mixed expression of shock, anger and betrayal, while Babette's eyes had widened and a hand was clamped over her mouth, suddenly afraid of what had just slipped out of her mouth. She fled back to her chambers immediately.  
I turned back to Astrid to see Uvelaes standing calmly behind her, a cocky grin on his face when he saw me. "Ah, I remember you as the assassin who found me and brought me home. You really are quite exquisite without the hood and cowl, although the armor is much more flattering…" his eyes travelled over me suggestively. My vision sharpened as my blood cooled in mild annoyance towards this Dark Elf.

"You speak to the  _Listener_  of the  _Dark Brotherhood!_  You should show respect towards the greatest of us all,  _new blood_ ," Cicero spat from next to me, a hand on his ebony dagger. I lifted my chin at Uvelaes when he glanced between us, Astrid's little show of stamping her foot and glaring at me lost to the elf. "Forgive me; I had not meant to disrespect you, my Listener," he bowed slightly in my direction. I could have sworn Astrid was lighting up like an Illusion mage's spell the way she was glowering, and Cicero seemed speechless from the quick save. "Hm," was all I could muster short of a dagger in his side. "Astrid, meet our newest member, Uvelaes Nilera. Uvelaes, meet Astrid, the current…  _leader_ … of our Sanctuary," I struggled a little with the last 'leader' part. I could tell neither was impressed with the other – it pleased me immensely.

"So you just  _happened_  upon a new brother, then Alysa?" Astrid asked stiffly.  
I smiled. "You could say that, I suppose – though I doubt that would please the Night Mother. I'm sure our brother would like to get settled in somewhere – Aventus can show you around," I finished, looking at Uvelaes – Astrid had already started storming off to her chambers, no doubt to fume at Arnbjorn if he was here. I turned to Cicero and beamed at him, just as he started reveling in how I had found our new brother.

My breath whooshed out of me as Cicero wrapped his arms around me, picking me up and spinning me around and around as he sang and giggled about the Brotherhood's glory and expansion. "To the Night Mother! To Sithis! To the Dark Brotherhood! To glory! To bloodshed and murder! To the  _LISTENER!_ " he finished, beaming from ear to ear.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Ah! It makes Cicero so happy to see that the Listener is finding new siblings! And that you, O Unholy Matron, sweet Night Mother, told her where to go to find this one! He seems like an interesting elf, though Cicero thinks he would prefer it if he stayed away from the Listener when not speaking professionally…. Hehe, Cicero is already very possessive of sweet Alysa…. Cicero's not-so-guilty guilty pleasure, Mother.

Our siblings parted and I swept Alysa around again, then she pulled me along up the stairs to the Night Mother and Cicero's chambers! Giggling and smiling and being so very pretty as she always is. She left humble Cicero once we stood inside your chambers, Mother – and she flung open your coffin doors, kneeling briefly while Cicero stood by the door. The proper door, between our chambers and the rest of the Sanctuary, of course, smiling softly at dear, beloved Alysa's back, closing the door softly. Cicero pulled off his gloves and put them on the table as he slowly walked to stand a little behind and aside from his beloved Listener, waiting for her. I bowed my head a little too – and I prayed as well.

Cicero prayed for the glory and respect of the Dark Brotherhood, for the honor and fear of you, sweet Mother, Unholy Matron, and Sithis, our Dread Father in the Void, and Cicero prayed the hardest for his Listener – for success in her contracts, her kills to give her pleasure and to be happy as such a great and wonderful woman should be. When Cicero looked up, Alysa flashed a smile – finished before Cicero – and closed the coffin. Then she turned back to the humble Fool of Hearts.

"Cicero is pleased to see you again, Alysa," he said softly, taking a few steps closer to his beloved Listener.  
"Oh, really?" she asked coyly, smirking, her pretty blue eyes half-closed, half-opened.  
Cicero mock-scowled. "You should know humble Cicero would  _never_  lie to his Listener!"  
Alysa took a step closer to Cicero. " _Your_  Listener?" Cicero doubted he could miss the way her eyes shone when she asked that. Cicero closed the gap – it was  _still_  far too big in Cicero's opinion (I  _did_  want to hold her, after all) – between myself and Alysa. " _My_  Listener," he confirmed, touching her face so gently, so softly. Those pretty eyes closed, leaning into Cicero's hand. Cicero couldn't help himself anymore – he lent forwards, and kissed the Listener Alysa.

 

* * * * * * *

 

My heart was working hard when Cicero's fingertips touched my cheek, standing so close to me it almost hurt. I leaned into his touch, reveling in the feel of his palm against my face when a soft rustle of clothing preceded his lips against mine.

It sent my heart racing.

I wanted more of Cicero, and kissed back eagerly. I reached for him, my fingers curling around his motley tunic as our kiss deepened, and I tasted him. His free arm wrapped around me, pulling me closer and I ran my hands up over his chest to tangle in his hair.

We finally broke apart, breathing heavily, our foreheads resting against each other.

 

* * * * * * *

 

It was a fairly relaxed day after that, and Cicero and I had spent most of our time together just talking, sometimes touching when I reached for him, or when he seemed to know just how and when to hold me, kiss me lightly. I liked that he still respected my natural distrust of contact, and especially since I had been out and busy by myself. I was warming up to it again.

At dinner we finally left Cicero's chambers and spent some time with Uvelaes, Aventus and Nazir at the table in the lab area. Babette and Festus were probably debating some arcane thing in peace elsewhere, and Astrid and Arnbjorn had yet to show themselves after the arrival of their new brother –  _my_  prodigy – and once everyone had gotten enough of Uvelaes, the first thing he had done when he saw Gabriella walk into the room was flirt with her, and the jokes grew increasingly suggestive when she mentioned she enjoyed knitting – even Nazir had sputtered about one, and I turned away in time to hide my blush while Aventus laughed openly and Cicero had giggled nervously.  
It made me turn my thoughts back to when Cicero and I had kissed, and a foreign warmth blossomed in the pit of my stomach. It wasn't unpleasant, but it wasn't entirely welcome, either. I wondered what this meant for the two of us – we had crossed a line now and there was no going back.  _Would I_ want _to go back?_  I asked myself, ignoring the banter around the table. I snuck a glance at Cicero and couldn't stop the grin from spreading.  _Definitely not!_  I settled the matter, and pretended to be interested in Aventus's little contracts from Nazir. He still seemed a little in love with me, but Uvelaes's offhanded suggestions and flirtatious mannerisms at anyone and everyone when the moment was right put the young Imperial off a little. It made me snigger now and again.  
Gabriella eventually gave up on fighting her fellow Dunmer's advances much to Nazir's disgust, and the Redguard made a few sarcastic comments under his breath before disappearing from the lab area to make food for us.

"Who do I speak to for contracts, the charming Redguard who just left us, or you, my Listener?" Uvelaes asked me.  
I sniggered when Cicero mumbled something into his tankard. "Nazir has most of the contracts around Skyrim, so it would be best to speak to him, first. I'll let you know if anything else comes up from the Night Mother," I replied easily. I was really enjoying this whole Listener thing more and more as time went on – the more members got used to this, the closer we would get to the Old Ways, and the greater power and influence we would have once more. Gabriella was fascinated with my ability to speak to the Night Mother, and asked many questions about how we communicated. I tried to explain it as best I could, but I suppose I could have been a little more honest and open about it. I couldn't help my selfishness in the matter.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Cicero held her close, careful – but he was so happy! So thrilled! Dear Alysa felt the same as Cicero! Surely they were blessed by Sithis and the Night Mother to be together like this! Oh, it was so perfect! Thank you thank you  _thank you!_  Ha ha ha!

Cicero had been careful with Alysa after that – she was so much like the Void; always close but never really within reach. Cicero  _never_  wanted to send her away, but Cicero wanted her to stay forever and ever and ever and ever and ever with him – so he was patient, letting his Listener take her time with everything again. Cicero could have sworn she appreciated it. It made Cicero  _want_  to dance and sing and jump!

He also felt a little better when he realized that Uvelaes flirted with everyone – specifically Gabriella, then Aventus. Humble Cicero had giggled nervously when his new brother (how he longed for another sister; too many men and mer around) had made a very…  _specific_  joke about knitting…. He he he, Cicero couldn't help but think of the lovely Alysa and that made it worse, really.  
But what had surprised this humble Keeper the most was when Nazir decided to leave! Cicero wondered exactly  _what_  his relationship or not-relationship was with the strange she-Dunmer – Cicero will admit, he finds it strange for men and mer to be lovers… it never seems to work out and, well, someone always  _insists, insists, INSISTS_  that it  _must_  happen – but Cicero is rambling. Hehehe.

The harlot and her dog didn't come to dinner; and the wondrous Festus and un-child came in for a short time to argue about potions and magic, and then the Shadowscale returned! He looked awful, horrid, terrible! Like he'd spent a night or three in jail and then ridden until he couldn't ride more – or until the horse couldn't go more. Cicero's one sister in Cheydinhal had done that every time she went out; one horse to leave, another horse to come back. Good thing she was a thief! But Cicero still doesn't understand them – why steal it to make it yours-not-yours when you can  _kill_  them and then it really  _is_  yours? Oh well, this foolish Imperial will never know….

He quite enjoyed the dinner and the tales of the Solitude contract, especially the part where the Listener made her mark in pig's blood on the balcony's wall. So much like the Dark Brotherhood before it all went wrong. Cicero also loved how the Listener described how Vici had gurgled and sputtered and gasped and gagged while she bled and died from an arrow in her throat in the middle of a speech! Ha ha! Oh, it was charming! Perfect! Cicero  _loved_  it!

Cicero's many brothers and few sisters seemed tired tonight, and everyone retired early, but Cicero managed a quick moment alone and in private with his beloved Listener. She smiled up at him, made his heart skip a beat – though it's quite right for the Fool of Hearts to have his heart act like a fool – and she reached for Cicero's hand. "Good night, Cicero."  
"Good night, dear Alysa."  
She grinned darkly, then let go of Cicero's hand, and hugged him. I couldn't help but bounce a little bit as I hugged her back – I couldn't exactly sing and dance for all to hear, just yet – and when she let go, Cicero caught her face between his hands very gently and kissed her again. Oh, he loved the way she held onto this one and only Fool of Hearts! The way she kissed back! Tasted like all things a Listener should – the Void, the cold blade of a dagger, the warm crimson-red of a target's life-force!

Well, maybe not quite  _exactly_  like that, but it's what he thought of when he kissed her.

"May Sithis and the Night Mother keep you in your dreams, dear Alysa."  
"And you, my Keeper," she said, untangling herself from Cicero and heading up, up, up the stairs to her bed.  
Cicero had a feeling she didn't just mean his title when she called him her Keeper – he was still grinning when he finally went to bed.


	24. On Avenging the Fallen (I)

**Chapter 24: On Avenging the Fallen (I)**

I woke up smiling.

And not the I-just-killed-someone-and-now-I'm-happy sadistic kind of smile – the I-kissed-the-man-I'm-in-love-with-and-I'm-fairly-s ure-it-wasn't-a-dream kind of smile. I put a hand over my mouth and turned over onto my side, burrowing into the furs on my bed. I supposed I'd have to make an appearance eventually, but for the moment I was enjoying the foreign feeling of bliss that wasn't brought by a  _kill_ , but by another  _person_.

It took me all of a content sigh to be frustrated with just lying in bed – so I gave up trying hard to be lazy and fell into my usual morning routine, the only difference today was the cheeky grin Uvelaes flashed at me from the table when I walked up to the previous night's leftovers for breakfast. A sweetroll would have been ideal, but I wasn't quite in the mood to go to all the effort to pinch one of Cicero's sweetrolls.

I could feel my face grow warm when a sudden, very unbidden thought fueled an even more sudden desire. It made me stop for a moment, and I tried vainly to push it away. I ate breakfast by myself, and finally made my way to the training area to practice by myself or spar with whoever was there.  
I wasn't sure if it was a lucky or unlucky thing that Aventus was there, but it was a pleasant challenge to fight someone who had gained experience since we last fought. He proved to be strong, but wasn't quite as fast as what I was, and it proved to be the determining factor for my victory. I was still smirking smugly and gloating over my victory when a disheveled Gabriella and Uvelaes came in from outside. Clearly, they'd been experimenting with their latest obsession, and both seemed pleased about it. Aventus seemed to miss the underlying meaning entirely, much to Uvelaes's amusement.

"Gabriella," I called, stopping her before she could disappear again. "What do you know about the next contract? Astrid said you were handling it."  
She nodded lazily. "Yes; it'll be another day or two to finalize, but I will find you and give you all the details then. For now, you should know that you're going to hunt Gaius Maro, son of Commander Maro–"  
"Of the Penitus Oculatus," I finished bitterly. It wasn't that I didn't want to kill the bastard, just that I so hated the Oculatus agents I couldn't help the hatred that crept up so cold and furious that it was natural for me to be so bitter about them.  
Gabriella smiled. "That's the spirit! You'll need to follow little Maro as he inspects the various cities for the Emperor's visit to Skyrim – it seems the assassination of his cousin was just the push he needed to come here. You'll need to incriminate him, and the letter forgery is all that I'm still finalizing. Then you can go out and make us all proud! I envy you, to kill an agent…. Send my regards when you send him to Sithis."  
And with that, Gabriella disappeared, Uvelaes smirking at her from behind.

"If it would please you, I'd like to train with you, Listener, and Aventus," Uvelaes said, coming closer to us. I nodded, and the Dunmer raised his hands.  _Oh,_ another _mage – where's Festus when you need him?_  I grumbled to myself.  _Let's see what he can do.  
_ Aventus laughed. "I'd like to go first, if you don't mind," he glanced at me. I shrugged: this would give  _me_  and advantage. "Yes!" he exclaimed softly, and Uvelaes smirked. I stepped to the side of the training area, and leaned against a wall, arms folded across my chest. Aventus had swopped his wooden training axe for his actual weapon, holding it at the ready, swinging it comfortably and a cocky glint in his eye. "Twenty gold the Dunmer won't last against the Imperial," Nazir rumbled from next to me.  
I shot him a glance from the corner of my eye, and held out my hand. "Make it eighty and we have a bet."  
"Ha ha! It's a deal!" Nazir laughed, shaking my hand briefly as we settled in to watch. Uvelaes's hands glowed a dark purple and black, and a tall, broad dremora and storm atronach appeared next to him. Aventus's smiled wavered and Nazir gave a low whistle. I smirked broadly.

Uvelaes stepped back, arms outstretched at his sides as he commanded softly: "Go!"

Aventus didn't stand a chance. The dremora charged, heavy armor plate thudding against plate and the ground, the greatsword grating out of its sheath, the strange voice roaring its battle cry. Aventus jumped out of the way at the last second, only to have the atronach fling him backwards and send lightning coursing through him. "Hold!" Uvelaes commanded, and the atronach floated back to his side. The dremora wasn't so willing, and hissed before reluctantly sheathing his blade and stalking closer to Uvelaes. Aventus gasped for air on the ground.

Giggling and the light tinkle of bells announced Cicero's arrival, and he sniggered even harder when he saw Nazir's shocked and disappointed expression. "Oh, the humble Fool of Hearts should have come earlier! To see! And bet! And say Good Morning, Brothers and Sister! Hehehe," he giggled nervously at the end, a light pink color in his cheeks when he looked at me. I couldn't help myself – I grinned back and felt my own cheeks color as well. Nazir 'hmm'-ed. "You're eighty gold richer, Alysa," the Redguard fished out a small pouch and counted out my winnings.  
I bounced the heavy pouch in my palm. "I should have bet more."

A hiss and fizzle brought our attention back to Uvelaes and Aventus. The Dunmer's summoned creatures had gone back to Oblivion and he crouched by Aventus, a golden healing spell just fading around the Imperial. Uvelaes stood, and pulled Aventus up with him. They stood so close I would have bet my winnings from their sparring with absolute certainty that they were about to kiss. I looked at Cicero to find him staring at me. I don't think anyone noticed when exactly Nazir left, I just knew he was gone. "May your humble Keeper have the honor of a walk with his most glorious Listener?" Cicero held out a gloved hand. I walked towards him and placed my hand in his. "Of course, my most faithful Keeper," I sniggered, unable to keep the same straight-faced countenance as Cicero. He giggled as well, and tugged me along to the Door. I always  _did_  like a nice day out….

 

* * * * * * *

 

Oh-ho-ho! Cicero was so pleased to see his new brothers sparring, and how his Dunmer brother won so easily! I do believe that the Family will hear many great things about him in the times to come – unless he dies, for some reason. That would make Cicero sad, but really – Cicero hopes he lives. He always liked the mages who Conjured and Summoned and Cicero thought it fascinating! Exciting! Festus would like him, if he had stayed to see – but Cicero knows he left early for a contract somewhere.

But this humble Keeper of the Night Mother – this Fool of Hearts – feels like flying! Singing! Skipping! For his beloved Listener Alysa Ice-Wrath was holding his hand, and she was laughing with Cicero! She  _kissed_  Cicero! Oh, it makes him to happy! Ecstatic! Thrilled! We were outside with the horses now, stopping for a quick breath and Cicero couldn't help but admire his lovely Listener – starting from the bottom, with her nimble feet and long, strong legs (and Cicero would know they're strong – Cicero  _had_  sparred with her often) to her hips, deceivingly slight; Cicero knew that she could look even more beautiful than any woman there ever was and will be – aside from our sweet, dear Night Mother, of course – and her small waist, toned from all her running and jumping and sneaking and training. Cicero let his gaze go further up a little faster (he didn't want to blush too obviously, after all) to the white-pale skin on her neck and deadly beautiful face.

Oh, her face, sweet Mother… humble Cicero does love that face so…. That heart-shaped face, and the soft-almost-elven cheekbones (the only thing Cicero liked about the elves, otherwise they were too sharp and pointy, hehe), and her small mouth and lips oh-so-full of the world's sweetest poison to the humble Fool of Hearts, and her long lashes, those icy-blue eyes that Cicero found difficult and easy to read sometimes, her fine-fine eyebrows, and her thick, light brown hair. Cicero wondered what it would feel like to run his fingers through it, what it would feel like wet…. Cicero blinks once, twice back to now! And I see the Skyrim autumn breeze blow her loose, dry hair in wispy-strands – it grew since Cicero first met his deadly dancer, and now hangs past her shoulders. Cicero thinks he quite prefers it longer, like this, than what she had then. It was little under a year ago… I can't believe that so much time has passed. It doesn't feel that long to Cicero at all. Cicero blinks again, and looks at his Listener as she looks at him. She's smirking in that way an assassin grins – Cicero does love that smirk – and he knows  _she_  knows he was staring at her…. Cicero grins back, clasps his hands behind his back. "Do you like what you see, Keeper?"  
"Very much, my Listener," Cicero stepped closer. "But Cicero wonders: is seeing enough?"

Alysa gave Cicero a dark smirk – he swears by Sithis she is teasing him. But all she does is smirk, and turned to the forest, glancing back to see if Cicero would follow. And Cicero did – he always would.

 

* * * * * * *

 

The way Cicero had been staring at me… by Sithis, I'd never felt anything like it before. It was the thrill of the chase, the satisfaction of the kill, and yet nothing like it. And it both excited and frightened me – I didn't know what it was, but I was ready to know, after all this time. I stopped walking when I reached a clearing; the very one, now that I stopped to look, where I had stolen Cicero's cap the last time we left the Sanctuary together.

I grinned, listening as Cicero stepped quietly around dry twigs and leaves, crunching softly on a few here and there, and stopped behind me.  _I trust him,_  I realized, leaning into him when he wrapped his arms around me. I closed my eyes, half-smiling when he kissed my jaw. I unlaced my fingers from in between his, about to turn around to face him when the sound of horse hooves thudding to a halt made me open my eyes and stiffen. We both moved to stand up straight, listening for any movement.

"Spread out! Search for anything related to our targets!" a voice shouted, not much farther from us. I glanced at Cicero. I was dressed in the Dark Brotherhood robes; if they were looking for us…. Cicero's eyes gleamed suddenly, and he gave me a dark smirk. "Go, my Listener! Cicero will make sure they don't find you, or our Family…" he whispered, pushing me back the way we came. I stared for a moment, then nodded and took off through the trees, Cicero's voice fading in the distance.  _I hope they aren't the Penitus Oculatus…._

If they were, I didn't have much time to bring backup.

 

* * * * * * *

 

"Good sirs in the forest!" humble Cicero called, taking a step, and a second step, and a third step backwards. "What is it that you're looking for? Perhaps this humble jester can be of service! He knows these woods well – very well, well, the best!" he giggled, a hand on his shiny-sharp-deadly ebony dagger. That tall man from the last time Cicero was in Falkreath with his dear Alysa was striding to Cicero with his men in tow – just like the Imperial dogs they are. Cicero almost giggled again – does that make  _Cicero_  an Imperial dog, too? He finds that quite funny, but he'll try not to laugh. "You, fool, what are you doing here?" the horrid, evil man demanded. Cicero never  _had_  liked him – neverminding he was Penitus Oculatus.  
"Humble Cicero was going home – see, he doesn't live  _in_  Falkreath; well, he  _does_ , but the Hold, not the city, and then he heard the horses and you said to spread out and look for a target and Cicero said Hello! Well, not  _exactly_  –"  
"Enough! Silence, yourself, fool! You clearly cannot speak as a proper man, so hold your tongue," the agent hissed at Cicero, striding even closer.

Cicero just cocked his head to one side and tried so, so,  _so_  very hard not to laugh. He saw another eight or so were behind his nemesis. Oh, sweet Night Mother, dark Sithis, will Cicero get the chance today to strike back? To avenge at least  _some_  of his fallen brothers and sisters? Cicero hopes so… he really does. Cicero stared at the agent in front of him – nose-to-nose, of course – and stayed calm-looking, his fingers closing on his dagger and ready to whip out and slash and cut and stab-stab-stab and then run – run from the Sanctuary, somewhere faraway so they will  _never_  find his Listener; never destroy the Dark Brotherhood…. Will you tell sweet Alysa that I love her, Night Mother? Will you tell her that we shall see each other in the Void again? Your humble Keeper would be so grateful if you could. Oh! Cicero sees he's talking – but Cicero didn't really want to listen, anyway. "I don't believe you, fool, but very well. What's in these woods? Do you know of a door? A large, black stone door?"  
"Many things are in these woods, everyone knows that, good sir! The White Stag of Falkreath – though rumor says someone killed it – bears, dead things, some say – Cicero doesn't believe all of it; well, the  _living_  dead things, at least – and he knows of many doors everywhere, but no black  _stone_  door. Cicero thinks it would be a beautiful door, if  _he_  believes what  _you_  say, good sir."

Cicero didn't like the way this agent breathed on him – again – as if he owned this angrily-calm, calmly-angry Cicero. Oh, to stab-stab-stab, and slash-swipe-sweep and…. Ah, it would be fun! So much fun!  
"Bind him. Take him to the encampment," the agent ordered, backing away and striding from Cicero. Now was his chance to strike! To take out as many as he could before he died!

Sithis must have disagreed with the Fool of Hearts.

Cicero heard the soft hiss of a summoned bow – such a ghostly thing! Cicero quite liked them. I let a massive grin spread over my face. "This Fool of Hearts really doesn't think he wants to go with – in fact, he has a much,  _much_  better idea; Cicero just thinks  _you_  won't like it. But he doesn't really care…."  
The agent turned, furiously fuming! Fumingly furious! Cicero giggled: he couldn't help himself. He pulled out his dagger. The agent drew his Imperial sword.  
"Cicero  _really_  wants this one, brothers and sisters," he took a steady stance, deadly-sharp blade in hand.

The agent snarled, charging Cicero! So did the others! A ghost-blue arrow shot one down! Cicero ducked away from under the swing of his horrid agent-opponent, slashing the throat of another and shoving the body into the first. Cicero cackled, soon soaked and covered in crimson-red-blood!

A dremora and a spider daedra and her spiderlings were attacking the agents as well, followed by Uvelaes and his ghost-bow.

Cicero swept forwards! Kicked out and tripped an agent! Stabbed his arm! Moved on!

Deadly-sweet Alysa was suddenly next to Cicero, firing one more shot and slamming her daedric bow into an agent's face. How wonderfully it cracked and smashed, sweet Mother! Cicero attacked and deflected while his Listener slung her bow and pulled her twin daggers, turning and slashing and kicking and punching and killing!

Cicero was sure more agents appeared because he saw six already dead and twelve (he guessed) were still standing – rather, fighting, and his first opponent was one of them against the spider daedra. Aventus and the wolf-man were a part of the fight, too – the wolf-man was deadly as a wolf! For once, Cicero was glad he was here and not yet dead.

Cicero found himself facing the first agent again, dodging and kicking and slashing! Alysa threw one of her daggers at him from somewhere, and he slashed at the blade, and Cicero saw his opening!

I jumped!

I stabbed!

And the agent toppled backwards, dropping his sword with Cicero on top, and I shrieked with laughter while the agent gurgled to his bloody-red-drowning death!

Suddenly it was all quiet for a moment, then Cicero heard the wolf-man Arnbjorn kill all the horses with roars and screams. Cicero panted, and wiped his brow with a glove. His cap was still on, and only one tip had been sliced off. Cicero would have to fix that when he got home…. He looked around to see Alysa pick up her lost dagger and wipe them both on Penitus Oculatus cloaks, and sheathe them. She was also sprayed with blood…. How Cicero wanted to kiss it all off his Listener…. He giggled and she smiled, holding out a hand to Cicero. He took it and stood, pulling her close and kissed her. He really didn't care who saw what now. Alysa pulled his cap off, and wove her fingers in the Fool of Hearts's hair. Oh, how I  _wanted_  her… here and now. I was sure she wanted the same – Cicero could tell by how fiercely she kissed.

But she pulled away finally, grinning devilishly at Cicero. We turned to see what wonders we had done, sending all these souls on to the Void. Uvelaes was healing a cut in Aventus's leg. Cicero and Alysa chortled when Aventus blushed as the Dunmer ran his fingers along the now-healed thigh-cut.

Arnbjorn came back, still the large-meal-white-wolf, growling and snapping with red-red blood all over. Cicero didn't see any injuries, but it looked like some fur was shorter in places. "There were quite a few agents here; that means there's an encampment nearby," Alysa spoke for the first time since the fight.  
"There is! Cicero was about to be bound and taken," Cicero added. Uvelaes nodded and pulled his Imperial to his feet.  
"Then we need to find it and eliminate the rest. Will you find them, Arnbjorn, since you're the most equipped to? And take Uvelaes with you – he can summon a few more fighters for the two of you if you need it," Alysa said, glancing briefly between the two. The wolf-man growled fiercely, but nodded and snapped at the Dunmer, crouching lower. He would let the Dunmer  _ride_  him?  
"I will return, my beautiful Imperial boy," he said softly, touching Aventus's face and grinned devilishly as he bounded over to the wolf, quickly vaulting on and holding onto the fur. Arnbjorn howled and raced into the woods, following a trail only he could smell.

"Seems you've found your match, Aventus!" Alysa teased, chortling when he turned a deep red. Even Cicero had to snigger at the boy. "Let's clean this up, unfortunately, and make sure the other agents won't find us that easily if they should come this way again."  
"Sure thing," Aventus agreed eagerly, and we set to work. We'd be busy a while, but Cicero was proud to have sent so many of these agents to the Void to suffer the worst punishment for all eternity. Ah, revenge really  _is_  sweet….

 

* * * * * * *

 

It was dusk when Cicero, Aventus and I finally got back to the Sanctuary. Gabriella, Babette, Veezara and Festus had stayed behind to protect our home, and make sure there were some survivors in case we didn't make it out. Nazir left soon after he lost the bet on Aventus and Uvelaes, and Astrid had disappeared some time in the night, and I couldn't help but suspect she might have had a hand in it. I didn't know what she stood to gain from it, but it was a nagging suspicion. Uvelaes and Arnbjorn hadn't come back yet, and I hoped they would be alright.

When I had raced into the Sanctuary earlier today, we had agreed to wait twenty-four hours before assuming that everyone who had left was dead, captured or compromised and move on – that gave the Dunmer and werewolf the night and some of the morning to come back. I might not have been fond of Arnbjorn, but he was my brother and our Family wasn't as powerful or large as it had been, and loses simply weren't acceptable or viable for us – no matter how minor in the bigger scheme of things.

We stayed cautious as we walked through the seemingly abandoned Sanctuary until we got to the main hall with the Word Wall. I sensed Babette before I saw and heard her tackle us and split us across the room. I sat up with a groan, and shifted to a more comfortable spot while the little vampire snarled and hissed at us. I was pleased to see that Cicero and Aventus were similarly thrown. "It's ok, Babette. We took care of them; and Arnbjorn and Uvelaes are looking for the encampment to see if they can deal with the rest of the Penitus Oculatus agents," I said, looking right into her deep crimson eyes.  
She looked us all over warily once more, then straightened and her fangs retracted again. "Thank Sithis. No-one followed you? You cleaned up the mess?" she quizzed, waiting in the centre of the room while we picked ourselves up and walked closer to her. Cicero nodded, and between him and Aventus they explained what had happened. I could have sworn that Babette was sorry she couldn't go out during the day to help us. "Well, now that's been settled, we should probably set up shifts for the next three or so nights and get some food and rest," I said, earning a few appreciative nods. Even Babette followed us to the dining hall, and Veezara immediately took her place in the front. Astrid came down the stairs from the sleeping quarters, a white-blonde woman following close behind. I narrowed my eyes at her, and Cicero stepped next to me, a hand on his dagger hilt.

The woman looked a lot like Astrid, and when she looked up at me, and I saw her emerald eyes, it was all I could do to stop myself from running at her. I still couldn't keep the snarl from escaping. She flipped her shoulder-length hair over a shoulder, and Astrid stared between us. I had a feeling this is how  _she_  felt when I brought Uvelaes in yesterday. "Well, it's good to see you again, Alysa. At least you aren't a street rat anymore," her emerald eyes twinkled when she mentioned my time in Windhelm when I was sixteen.  
"So you know each other, Ree?" Astrid asked coyly.  
"Of course! We grew up together in Helgen. I remember we were friends, until my family moved to Windhelm, and then Alysa and I met again when we were both sixteen. Oh, I'm Seri Frost-Bitten, by the way. It's a pleasure to meet all of you, really," Seri grinned, her patronizing eyes never leaving me for more than a few brief seconds. "In fact," she started to add, moving to take a plate and a bread, "Alysa and I were best friends as children."

Cicero glanced at me. I met his slightly confused gaze with a mild glare I wasn't aiming at him. I hadn't had a chance to tell him about my twisted past just yet, and I was going to make  _damned_  sure he wouldn't hear Seri's version of it. "I remember how you laughed when I came to you for help in Windhelm, and how your father spat before slamming the door in my face. I believe shortly after he lost most of his prized oxen that night. They never found the culprit, did they?" I returned, smirking at her when she stared wide-eyed at me. It had been difficult to kill five of eight oxen without causing a ruckus to wake even the deepest sleeping drunk all the way in Riften, but I had done it.

I looked up and smiled at her and Astrid as I sliced the breadroll in half. I could play this game, too – and so far, I had a few more people backing me than Astrid had, and everyone else simply wanted to keep the peace so they stayed out of any power-play that came up. I ignored both of them and cut a slice of cheese and some ham to go with my bread, and did another one for Cicero while he poured mead, and sat down at one end of the table, doing my best not to sulk too obviously at Seri's appearance – we had been of the same middle-class as children, but where my father had squandered our wealth, hers had stumbled into a fortune and it had only grown from there. She was living the life I could have – _should have_ – had.

But, thinking it over briefly, I would have been bored with it, and done something else that would have gotten me in much more trouble. "So," Aventus started, clearing his throat. "How do you and Astrid know each other, Seri?"  
"We're cousins," Seri said easily, throwing a glance at Astrid who was scowling at her for divulging information like that.  
"Oh! I see! You  _do_  look similar," Aventus said, caught in the middle when Cicero sat next to me, Astrid and Seri sat down at the opposite end of the table, and Babette and Gabriella sat across from each other in the dead centre. I couldn't really blame him – the choice he made now would play a larger role in the scheme of things. In the end he opted for sitting next to Babette as though he was made of inflexible metal. He was the only one who ended up talking after that, and the rest of the night was tense enough with the wait for Uvelaes and Arnbjorn. We certainly didn't have enough beds anymore for everyone living here.


	25. Interlude: So this is How it Goes… I See

**Interlude: So this is How it Goes… I See**

Astrid paced across her chambers later that night while her cousin Seri lounged out on Astrid's bed, picking at her nails uninterestedly. "Relax, Astrid. I've been a spy for you and the Dark Brotherhood for as long as you've been around, I'm quite sure I can find out a little something on your Alysa and Cicero, and how to make them both go away. You should have more faith in me. And in yourself – things  _will_  get back to normal," Seri cooed wryly, smirking up at Astrid when she received a glare from the older woman. Seri flung herself flat on the bed and stared at the ceiling, Astrid's footfalls becoming the beat to a rushed lullaby. "I know, I know, Seri! That's why I called you in to join us officially! But now that the Penitus Oculatus are so close to finding out exactly where we are the problems are increasing tenfold… I don't know what to do about it! They'll kill us all if they find us! And I'll be damned if I can think of another place to go! Locations of other Sanctuaries aren't mentioned in records by other assassins, only their names, and those that were made public were those the Void-cursed Oculatus agents found!"  
"Maybe we should take a hint from them and go through their ranks and kill a few of them to even the odds," Seri sniggered, earning another glare and a slap on her leg.  
"It's not a joke, Seri! They  _will_  find us eventually and they  _will_  kill all of us – after they torture us…. Which might be fun, for a while…" Astrid trailed, still pacing up and down.

Oppressing silence filled the room when they stopped talking; Astrid's continual pacing the only soft beat, much like a dying creature's heartbeat. It was beginning to annoy Seri, but she couldn't find the will to be annoyed enough to go to the effort of telling Astrid to sit down. Seri sighed: it was close to midnight and her cousin's husband and the dark elf who had apparently accompanied him had yet to return. It was worrisome in the least, and gaining two to lose two wasn't particularly great odds.  
And then there was the Night Mother and her corpse, and the lunatic Keeper who dressed as a jester, and the new Listener, Alysa… Seri wondered if her old childhood friend really  _could_  hear the old cow speak – she'd never been a believer in the supernatural, but the Void was something she couldn't deny; she felt it every time she picked up her throwing axes and mace. If there only was a way to get rid of the Oculatus agents  _and_  Alysa, her lover and their pet corpse at once….

She wondered how exactly the blue-eyed, almost-blonde woman had turned out like this. For as long as she could remember, Seri had always been envious of how much more beautiful she had been sure Alysa would grow up to be, and when she had seen her in Windhelm twelve years ago, dressed in rags and shivering from the cold and thin enough to snap if she had been hit too hard, Seri had immediately felt victorious – she had won, she had finally won against this girl! She had felt a little guilty after her father had kicked Alysa out – he hadn't recognized her – and then their oxen had mysteriously been killed. Seri had always assumed the Khajiit from the caravans had done it, but then the bodies wouldn't be there. She had never suspected Alysa simply because she had looked so pitiful, and she had only seen the beggar-girl twice after her father's oxen had been killed – after that, Seri assumed Alysa had finally succumbed to illness or been killed.  
But here she was, a strong Nord woman still wearing the scarred trophies of her past on her slight, unwomanly body – not that she wasn't still attractive… Seri supposed. She shook her head, and let her thoughts on Alysa go. She was still shocked that Alysa had managed to kill eight oxen with such skill – she would have been doing it for a while. Seri felt her lips twitch in a wry smile as a sudden plan came to her.

"So why not eliminate two birds with one stone?"  
"What now, Seri? I don't understand," Astrid snapped, rounding on her cousin. Seri just grinned and let it slide over her – Astrid was desperate to get her husband back, apparently.  
"Well, you have trouble with the Penitus Oculatus hunting you down, yes?"  
"Of course! I just told you that and every  _idiot_  knows that," Astrid interrupted harshly.  
"And you feel threatened by Alysa, the alleged new Listener…."  
"Where are you going with this?" Astrid said quickly, finally stopping in her pacing.  
Seri rolled onto her stomach, a dark grin on her face. "Why not make a deal with these lovely agents? The Listener in exchange for your lives – the Night Mother too, and the Keeper, if the agents are being difficult to negotiate with. Then they can do as they please with the three of them and they're off our case, probably for good."  
Astrid's face was blank, and then a smile slowly started spreading and she laughed a little uncertainly. "Oh, Ree! That's perfect! By Sithis, you're a blessing in this place!"  
Seri allowed herself to be pulled up by Astrid and crushed in a bear hug. "That's what family is for; fixing the problems together."

Seri just wondered exactly  _how_  Astrid was planning on executing her rather brilliant plan.


	26. Darker Pleasures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Implied smut at the end. Nothing explicit, lots of fade to black lol

**Chapter 25: Darker Pleasures**

Uvelaes and Arnbjorn came back three hours after midnight, exhausted and a little bloody and singed – and in Arnbjorn's case, a little angry that he had been forced by the circumstances to carry a new, non-Astrid-supporting member on his back, and immediately snapped at everyone and stalked away to Astrid.

We heard from Uvelaes what had happened – apparently, Uvelaes had set fires in some places that burnt a little beyond control, especially when he got tangled with a mage, and that was why they were covered in soot and Arnbjorn's hair smelt awful and was uneven at the ends. Thankfully, the mage had been 'an inexperienced female Imperial who couldn't cast her way out of an open door' – most of her spells had backfired and spread Uvelaes's fires instead as she got more and more panicked. Fortunately it had played to their advantage and destroyed the camp in a matter of minutes, but the problem had been removing evidence of magefire and stopping the fire from spreading too far in the dry autumn air.  
I sighed in relief when Uvelaes went on to explain that most of the agents had been killed in the initial fight, and only another ten or so were left behind at their camp.  _And now there are none left,_  I thought happily, glad that we were still half a step ahead of the Empire's wild goose chase. It was that half a step that made sure we were alive or dead, and I personally preferred alive. Festus ended up lecturing Uvelaes on the nuances of Destruction magic, and I left them at it for a few more hours of sleep.

When I woke up again, and passed through the alchemy lab, Gabriella stopped me just as Babette swore at a new formula she was furiously working on for a new potion. "Alysa, if you're ready to set out and kill little Maro, the letter you need to plant on his body will be ready by tonight," she said, looking up from several parchments, one of which had an ink drawing of Maro's insignia. "There's no need to ask what it's about – just some rambling about Stormcloak agents coming in to kill the Emperor and so on and so forth. This kill may prove to be challenging if only because they might suspect us before you can plant the letter, and it must be done inside a city in order to gain the bonus. Start in Dragonbridge, and see if you can get our little agent's travel schedule. It will make things much easier, but you knew that already," Gabriella offered me a rare smile – she usually reserved them for Festus. "Go with Sithis, Sister."  
"Thank you; and you," I replied. I would need speed on my side for this one, and I was going to work on little sleep for a long time.

I headed back to my bed to start packing my things and get a map to start planning my route, and work out travel times and distances with my horse. Since it was only me, while Maro would be with an entourage of Oculatus agents, I would probably end up travelling faster and lighter than they would – which was a benefit for me…. I ignored Seri when I passed her, and Veezara seemed entirely unsure of what to make of her flamboyant mannerisms at times.

I took my map out and made my way to Cicero's chambers somewhat out of habit – it was a calm place where I could think without being disturbed by irritating idiots. I settled on the floor at the foot of the Night Mother's stone coffin, and spread the map in front of me. He would probably go south to Markarth first, and then down around the south of Skyrim before turning north and finally west to end in Solitude. He'd also travel by the roads, in all likelihood, which meant I could buy time by cutting across the country to get to the cities before him – once I knew where he was headed, I could go straight there and lie in wait. I grinned briefly – I just needed his travel schedule, and confirmation from someone close to him that it was the correct copy. The rest would be relatively easy. If I could plan it right, I'd wait for him in Riften and see if I could make it look like a vagrant thief or drunk had cut his throat for a few coins, then leave the letter on him, and disappear into the night.

"Good morning, Cicero," I greeted without turning to look behind me. My grin spread – I could almost picture the indignant look on his face, so I turned to appreciate it completely. His hands were on his hips, one foot out to the side and his head was leaning to the other. I took the time to appreciate his features, and the definite contours of his face, his very straight, typically Imperial nose, the laugh lines around his mouth and grey eyes…. "Good morning to you too, Alysa," he said slowly, curiosity lighting his face when he saw the map in front of me.  
"My next contract – Gaius Maro's inspecting all the cities and their security for when the Emperor comes, and I need to make it even more crucial that the Emperor comes by incriminating an agent of our favorite organization."  
Cicero giggled and clapped his hands, leaping forwards and planting himself on the floor next to me with surprising speed. "Oooohh! Cicero thinks that would be awesome fun! What a stunt it will be! What is he being framed for? And why the map? Surely you know Skyrim inside out and outside in?"  
I smirked at him. "He'll be a Stormcloak spy, and I need to see where I might go from here to Dragonbridge and from there to the major cities to catch Maro for my bonus. If it's anything like the first contract, I'll be rich enough to buy Falkreath from the Jarl!" I sniggered, and Cicero laughed with me.  
"Cicero thinks that would be quite funny – a city of assassins! We'd need it after all the new members…."  
"We would," I nodded. "Are there any other Sanctuaries out there somewhere that were closed and never found by the Oculatus agents?" I asked seriously, searching Cicero's face. He seemed torn between his desire to tell me and his duty to keep it secret. "There  _is_  another one you know about, isn't there?"  
Cicero nodded slowly. "Yes, Cicero knows of another. Before he came here with our Mother, he paid it a visit. It's much bigger than this one, but full of ghost-guardians of assassins who died and went back to protect it," he admitted quietly, glancing at the closed door every so often. If Astrid found out where this place was, or what the passcode was… she'd move over as soon as she could and she would probably split me and my people in the Brotherhood, and that wouldn't be particularly good. "Astrid can't know about it," I whispered.  
"I know; that's one of the reasons why I said nothing and stayed quiet. But Cicero is beginning to think we might need to open it again, sweet Alysa."

I grinned at his endearment when my stomach grumbled suddenly – I hadn't had breakfast yet, I realized. Cicero sniggered at me. "Cicero thinks a breakfast of sweetrolls and honey and mead and carrots is in order! And the Listener knows she agrees…." He stood and pulled me up with him, spinning me around the room in a wild, haphazard dance deeper into his chambers. We held onto each other's hands, spinning and leaping randomly. I laughed with Cicero, more out of amazement that we didn't slam into the shelves and tables and chairs at all.

I stopped suddenly when Cicero stopped and pulled me close, my back to his front, and he kissed my neck. I shivered, holding onto his hands a little tighter. My stomach felt strange – light and fluttery, and unlike anything I had felt before. My heart had never beat this fast before, either. The moment went as quickly as it came, and I was pulled back from timelessness into the present when Cicero's lips left my skin, and he stepped to my side and let me go to get plates and food. I poured mead, and sat down next to Cicero at the table.  _Now is as good a time as any to talk about my past,_  I decided, and started talking. Cicero was quiet the entire time while I told him about growing up in Helgen as rich middle class, and how my mother had disappeared – my father had never explained why – and how he had spiraled out of control, gambling and losing everything we had, until he finally had to sell our house, and me. I went to Riften with a nobleman of sorts, working as his personal servant until something snapped in me one day when I was twelve, and I had cut his throat. Cicero had smiled at me, then, when I tried to explain how confused I had been as a child about what I had done.  
I finally made my way up to Shor's Stone, and lived with an older woman for another year or so, who rather enjoyed beating children who spoke up more often than they should have – I suppose she was much like Grelod, now that I thought of it – and I killed her out of revenge and her sister for the hell of it. I tried to kill her son, too, but he had survived. I fled back to Riften, roaming the streets until I was sixteen and heard about the Stormcloaks.

"It was a way out of everything for me – I had nothing, couldn't  _have_  anything and it was something I could be good at. I knew little of fighting but killing I could do," I explained to Cicero, tipping my tankard one way and then the other while I spoke.  
"Cicero doesn't see you being a Stormcloak soldier – Cicero thinks it would have been too boring for you," he flashed me a grin.  
"Sithis apparently agreed, because it was about then that Ulfric was captured by the Thalmor and I stayed on in Windhelm for three years – when I ran into Seri from time to time, asked for her help and killed her father's oxen," I sniggered when I thought of my revenge, and took another sip of mead. "And I killed every so often, and just as I was growing restless in Windhelm, I heard about Aventus Aretino and the Black Sacrament. So I paid him a visit, and he thought I was Dark Brotherhood, and I went back to Riften to kill old Grelod. I guess the rest is history, really. I never  _did_  collect my reward from Aventus," I suddenly realized. Cicero gave me a funny look when I laughed. "I was arrested and then kidnapped by Astrid and I never went to find Aventus after that. In fact, I only remembered him and his name because he was key to my joining the Dark Brotherhood…" I shook my head.  
"And now he's an assassin like you and Cicero!" he giggled darkly, and I sniggered as well. "Cicero thinks it was the best payment for you to become an assassin, really," he raised his tankard and I clinked mine with his, and we drank to my good fortune since I joined.

I drained my tankard, thinking of the promise I had made to myself that I kept on breaking every time I had some mead and brushed it off, standing to examine some of Cicero's oddments that he had collected over the years he had worked as an assassin – and a few odd trinkets he picked up afterwards. He had a large collection of daggers, enchanted, unenchanted, elvish, glass, iron, steel…. I'd never seen a collection like this before. "This is quite impressive," I said, picking up a rich amber-colored blade with green stones inlaid in the hilt of dagger and turning it over. "I've never seen a blade like this before – what is it made of?" I turned to see Cicero next to me, his hand outstretched for the fairly broad blade.  
"Cicero won it in a bet against one of his brothers in Bruma – apparently the Listener in the previous age, the one who disappeared, had brought it with from the very foreign land she disappeared to. She said it was an amber dagger, and Cicero had it taken to a bladesmith and he told Cicero he'd never seen a weapon like this before, but his father had – they were elves, dear Alysa – and the older elf told Cicero that it  _was_  amber. I even took it to a jeweler who said the same."  
I raised my brows at the blade, and lifted it to the light. It was slightly opaque, and if I looked hard enough, I could see the faint outlines of objects on the other side of the blade. "Why don't you use it?"  
"No-one can fix it for Cicero if it breaks – no-one has amber or knows how to work with it. It's sad to Cicero, but very well. Cicero will admire the blade, then." I nodded, and put the blade back on the shelf. "But Cicero's Listener… he would admire her too."

I grinned at him, reading between the lines to what he wanted to add, and kissed him, the same desire I had felt for him after the battle yesterday and earlier back in full force, and Cicero knew it. He pulled me close to him as I wrapped my arms around his neck, his hands wandering over my back and settling on my hips, our lips only just forced apart by the need to breathe. I felt my lips twitch in a dark smile at Cicero, and he returned it with that strange mix of sanity and insanity in his eyes. His mouth attacked mine again, nipping and teasing in ways I had never imagined from Cicero, making a fierce warmth blossom in the pit of my stomach, and I gave in to him when his hands slipped under the tunic of my robes, nipping and sucking on his neck as he lifted me, wrapping my legs around his waist and carried me to his bed.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Cicero hadn't felt this normal, this  _sane_  in years – but especially, he hadn't felt so  _happy_! Or in love! I was propped up on my elbow, my beloved Listener lying on her stomach, her hair wild and damp and so perfect and so very deliciously naked next to him in his bed, her ice-blue eyes staring at Cicero as if she couldn't see enough. He wondered if she would agree to trade  _seeing_  for  _doing_  again…. He reached for her hips, kissed her back and spine. Cicero felt her hum happily, and he looked up to grin at her when she turned over onto her back, her smirk answering what the Fool of Hearts had been thinking. Oh, sweet Mother,  _she_  would be the one to drive Cicero to the Void and back with insanity! If he wasn't crazy already, hehehe…. He grinned at her, his mighty Listener Alysa, then kissed and licked her stomach, and she wove her fingers in Cicero's hair, touched his face and anywhere she could reach. Oh, Cicero almost couldn't think about anything with the way she felt and smelt….

Cicero grinned, teasing her with his kisses and his touches until she scowled darkly, still refusing to beg and plead, and pulled Cicero closer, kissing him fiercely. Oh, he'd  _never_  say no to Alysa… not now, not ever.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I would be lying if I said we spent a lazy day in bed – because we certainly weren't lazy. If anything, I would say that between the two of us, our lust for each other was almost insatiable. I didn't know how many times we ended up making love, but by Sithis and the Night Mother, it was a pleasure and a high something entirely different to anything I had ever known.  
We bathed and dressed only in time for dinner Festus-style, and Gabriella's knowing smirk greeted me as she held out a letter. "The letter I owe you for Gaius Maro's incrimination. Nothing all that interesting inside – just some blather about Stormcloaks and the likes. Send him my regards when you gut him, won't you?"  
"I would normally suggest that," Babette interrupted, "but this time I would say kill him first, and leave the talk. It'll probably only serve to spook him, and that's quite unnecessary."  
I nodded at the little vampire. "I'll keep it in mind, but I have no intention of letting him escape."  
Babette nodded at me, ready to move on when she stopped to give me a strange look and a smile. "It's about time," I thought I heard her mutter, and I was still about to scowl when she was gone. I clenched my jaw instead, and headed to dinner with the rest of the Family. I'd set out in the morning, and then Gaius had an eternity of servitude ahead of him. How delicious.


	27. Breaching Security? What Security?

**Chapter 26: Breaching Security? What Security?**

I had wanted to move all my things to Cicero's chambers that night, but something had stopped me and I had simply left it all there, and made my way into his bed again. It was probably the best night's rest I had ever gotten, and the feel of Cicero's arms around me in the morning….  _How could I ever have started a fight with him?_  I wondered sleepily, thinking back to his second day at the Sanctuary.  _He had it coming…._  I insisted, smiling impulsively when Cicero kissed my hair, his hands running along my back. I held him closer to me, and his arms tightened around me. "Cicero wishes you'd stay here forever, sweet Alysa," he breathed softly.  
I smirked happily into his chest. "That makes two of us…." I couldn't help but think of my next contract.  
"Cicero supposes you're thinking of how you're going to chase and gut and stab and kill Maro's son?"  
I giggled. "Yes. I  _should_  go…."  
"But you won't?"  
"Not yet."

 

* * * * * * *

 

Gabriella stopped me and Cicero at the Door. "I've only just managed to clear this with Astrid, and she's agreed that if you kill Maro in one of the cities as specified, your bonus will be a token for a reading by Olava. She's a close friend of mine, and the reading is an opportunity not to be missed. Good luck, Sister Listener, and may you hunt well."  
"Thank you, Gabriella. I will. Night Mother and Sithis keep you," I replied, Cicero standing close behind me. The Dunmer woman only smiled at us, drifting back to the main Sanctuary. Cicero followed me to the horses, helping me tack up my steed and tie my pack to the saddle. "Cicero wishes you could wear your Dark Brotherhood armor, and not that horrid, commoner's leather," he sulked, glaring at the brown armor. I sniggered at him, vaulting into the saddle. "Soon, Cicero, I'll be back in my usual armor, and before you know it I'll be back with another tale of blood and glory for our Family!"  
Cicero giggled, jumping up and down briefly. "Oh, sweet Listener, dear Alysa, you shall! You shall! And I will wait for you, here – well, not  _here_  because  _here_  is outside, but well…" he trailed, looking up at me. "May the Night Mother watch over you, Alysa."  
"And you, Cicero." I replied, touching his face. He took my hand and briefly pressed his lips to it, then backed away so I could ride.

My horse grunted with effort as I forced my palomino stallion to a gallop.

Pray for mercy from your gods, Gaius Maro.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Cicero watched her race off with a dark grin-smirk-snarl on her face. Oh, how I wish I could go with her… hunt with Cicero's beloved Listener, his very own Alysa, forever and ever and ever and ever…. Cicero giggled, turning and leaving only when he didn't hear the hooves thundering and pounding on the forest floor anymore. He went back inside the Sanctuary with a heavy sigh finally settling on cleaning the Night Mother once he got back to his chambers.

"– Bloody Imperial thinks that the two of them will run the place! Over my dead body!"

Cicero stopped to listen, sneaking-creeping closer to Astrid's door.

"Astrid, love, aren't you over-reacting? Yes, the fool is obsessed with her and this…  _Night Mother_ , but can't we play them against each other? Plant a few ideas here, and some there, and force them apart and you closer to Alysa?"

Treacherous, conniving harlot and her dog! Cicero will  _not_  stand for such evil and heresy! I will show them, prove the Might of the Listener, and the Grace of our lady the Night Mother! Cicero will, this he vows, and oh, sweet Mother, none will be able to stop him when he does…. Cicero slips his ebony dagger back into its sheath, and stalked back to his chambers. It was going to be a long wait full of plots and threats and horrid, horrid other things, until Alysa came back….

 

* * * * * * *

 

Dragon Bridge wasn't my favorite place, but it seemed to be the one I ended up spending the most time in while on these Emperor contracts. I settled into a dark corner of the inn, watching warily as a decorated, Imperial Penitus Oculatus agent walked in to talk to the owner of the inn – Faida, I believe her name was. They greeted fondly, and he explained about his tour of Skyrim, verifying the security of each of the cities before the Emperor set out for Skyrim. He had memorized his tour, he said softly, and claimed to have left the missive. Faida expressed her concern, and he assured her he would be fine – he was leaving immediately. I smirked, slipping out of the inn into the late summer afternoon and picked my way into the main barracks of the Oculatus agents. There usually weren't more than three stationed in the area at a time, and I seemed to have struck it lucky with an empty building. I snatched the missive and left, slipped back into the inn and packed my things. I'd leave in the morning, and ride straight across the country for the next city.

I spent the rest of the day quiet in my room, reading the missive and plotting my route on my map. Little Maro was headed for Windhelm first, then Riften, Whiterun, Markarth, finally ending in Solitude.  _Interesting,_  I narrowed my eyes at the missive and my map.  _The Emperor isn't going everywhere, then. I'll stick with my plan to get Little Maro in Riften, and leave my mark in the city. If I need to, and have no other choice, I can run for the Ratway and pray to Sithis that Delvin will help me escape the city. Otherwise I can walk out that same day and none will be the wiser until they find his body…._  I grinned darkly, folding everything away and turning in for the night. What a happy hunt this would be….

 

* * * * * * *

 

I made my way to Riften via Morthal, then across the country, passing by Lake Jorgrim, then racing south along the Black River to Shor's Stone, and finally I was in Riften. A beggar informed me that Jarl Laila had been stepping up on the amount of guards in the streets, trying especially hard to lessen the crime around the city for some 'important visitors'… I smirked under my cloak's hood and handed the old man a coinpurse of twenty gold, renting a room in the ever-faithful Bee and Barb.

It was another four days before Little Maro and his entourage appeared at dusk, and it seemed all of Jarl Laila's court was gathered to greet the agent. I snarled from my position on a bridge, most of my face covered by my cloak's hood. The seven agents were given lodging in Mistveil Keep, and they quickly followed the Jarl inside, presumably to drop their possessions.

"Uthgerd! It's good to see you again!"

I spun round to see a young woman smiling brightly and waving as Uthgerd the Unbroken walked over, a gentle smile on her face as she embraced the woman. It seemed that Tawarthion wasn't with her… did that mean they had parted ways? I tuned into their conversation while I browsed the stalls listlessly, gathering that Tar was spending some time in Solitude with Lisette while he was waiting for word from a close friend and Ulfric. I abandoned by aimless shopping when Little Maro walked out with his guards, dividing them and sending them out into the city. Thankfully, each man patrolled alone – including Little Maro. I sniggered, wondering what his reaction would be if I called him that. It seemed he had been the one to take the Ratway passages; if he was going down to talk to the Guild, he'd be in for a surprise. I would wait for him to come up again. No-one had seen my face yet….

 

* * * * * * *

 

I tugged at the revealing dress I wore, irritated with the cut and the material's texture. I scowled at every second man and woman who glanced my way, and finally I saw Little Maro make his way back to Mistveil Keep. I smoothed my features, tugged my dress a little further down, and strode over to the Imperial. He stopped to do a double take when he saw me, and I let a coy grin slip out, swinging my hips a little more. "Good evening, Sir," I purred, looking him over, and leaned a little closer to him.  
He swallowed hard, struggling to stay focused. I fluttered my eyes at him. "I… you… I have a fiancé, and… and I can't take you in… into…" he stuttered lamely.  
"She doesn't have to know anything…" I replied. It was getting difficult to stop myself from cackling. "Besides, I have a room at the Bee and Barb…."

He completely lost it there and then, and followed me to my room. It was easy to get him undressed, to lie on the narrow bed, make him agree to being tied to the posts, gagged and blindfolded, even. I let a dark smirk escape when I straddled him, still dressed, and a twitchy grin made its way past his gag. I pulled out my daedric dagger, running a finger along the edge. "This is a night you will never forget," I whispered, and he managed a slightly nervous chuckle. I giggled, touching his face, then pressed my hand down on his nose and mouth, plunging my dagger into his chest at the same time, dragging it down his abdomen with some difficulty. He was struggling, growing weaker and weaker, and I giggled uncontrollably. "To the Void with you, Agent," I sniggered, pulling out my dagger and wiping it on the sheets. I changed out of the dress and into my Dark Brotherhood armor, throwing on my cloak and taking my pack, taking the gag and blindfold with me. I stuffed the forged letter into one Little Maro's belt pouches, and made to leave.

I stopped in the door, wondering if I should leave my handprint. I decided this time, I would have to abstain. But I'd leave a mark – I quickly carved the word 'Listener' onto the foot of the wooden bed, and glanced back at my handiwork, feeling very proud of myself, but sorry for the old sod who would have to clean it up – it was a  _little_  messy, after all.

Blood on the bed, the sheets, the wall, the floor, his armor, the side table…. The blood would begin seeping through the gaps in the boards soon. I turned and hurried down the stairs, just making the night curfew before the gates were locked. I found my steed, quickly tacking him up and riding out into the wilderness as hard and fast as he could carry me.

I dreamed that night, when I finally stopped to sleep. I dreamed that something was wrong at the Sanctuary, something had happened that I couldn't quite grasp. I woke with a start at dawn, shaking off the memory of the dream as concern for such an easy kill. I rode through the country with relative ease, feeling light when I passed by a courier who said an upstanding Imperial soldier had been killed, and found with a note saying he was a Stormcloak spy. Ulfric would be furious – but that wasn't my problem in the slightest.

 

* * * * * * *

 

"Sithis damn you, fool! You think you can control everyone with your pet  _corpse?!_ " Astrid shrieked, the veins in her neck standing out in her fury. Cicero hissed back with equal venom, his hand flitting to his dagger. "You have  _no right_  to march in here with your outdated, worthless culture and expect all of us to fall to our knees and obey!"

"Astrid, Cicero, please, calm down! Take a few breaths –"

" _Shut up Veezara!_ "

"Cicero will not stand for this heresy! You blaspheme! Take it back and beg for mercy from our Unholy Matron the Night Mother!" Cicero shouted, ignoring the quickly-gathering crowd. Cicero would teach this  _pretender_.

"Beg for  _mercy?_  From a corpse who can't speak, can't act, can't lead and her idiot 'Keeper'? I think not!"

"Then you will pay for this with your life! Now you will die,  _whore!_ "

Cicero pulled out his long, shiny-sharp-deadly ebony dagger.


	28. The Cure for Madness

**Chapter 27: The Cure for Madness**

I returned to the Sanctuary happy – Cicero would be waiting for me, and I would tell him all about how I had killed Maro, and we would probably make love again…. I found myself eager to get past Astrid and her long reward-speech to go straight to Cicero for his company – last year I would have scoffed at anyone who claimed to feel this way about any other person, but now…. My grin faded when I saw Gabriella pacing at the end of the passage instead of Cicero. "Gabriella," I greeted, and she stopped suddenly. She looked worried – and a worried Gabriella meant something was very, very wrong. "What happened?" I demanded, coming closer and my happy mood altogether replaced by a cold logic. "It's… Cicero. There's been an incident," she started. "You should proceed into the Sanctuary. I'll let Astrid explain exactly what happened – I wasn't actually there when it happened."

I clenched my jaw and almost shoved past her, trying not to run in.  _Calm, my Listener…. Reason is needed to get through this for now…_  the Night Mother's voice soothed in my head. It didn't help much, but I trusted she wouldn't keep secrets from me…. Hopefully. When I came to the training area, I saw most of the Family gathered in a tight crowd around something or someone. I threw down my pack and stormed closer. "Get back, will you? Give him some space to breathe and so that I can work!" Babette ordered angrily, and my Family grumbled, but stepped back to reveal Veezara in slashed robes on the floor, blood pooled around him and deep cuts on his abdomen, arms and legs. Babette was applying poultices and making the Shadowscale drink a very potent-looking restoration potion. "What happened?" I asked coldly.  
"What happened?!" Astrid snapped at me. " _What happened?!_  What happened is that the fool went absolutely berserk! He wounded Veezara, tried to kill me, and then he fled like the coward he is! I  _knew_  from the beginning that lunatic couldn't be trusted! I should have kicked him out the second he came here!" she hissed and shouted, clenching her jaw while Seri just stared at me. I glared right back, wondering what exactly I saw in her eyes. Anger? Pity? Remorse? Victory?

I looked around at my Family, hoping someone would contradict Astrid. Festus ended up being the one to speak, albeit a little sadly. He had been fond of Cicero. "It's true, I'm afraid. Cicero was a little whirlwind, slashing this way and that. It would have been funny, if he weren't trying to murder us all," he half-laughed with a sad smile.  
Nazir scoffed immediately, adding; "Don't forget the ranting and raving. About the Night Mother, how…  _she_ … was the true leader of the Dark Brotherhood, and Astrid was just a 'pretender'."

I could have sworn he was actually talking about me, but he refused to meet my gaze so I assumed he meant the Night Mother for Astrid's sake.  _No, no it can't be… Cicero wouldn't…. Not without reason…._  But my mind reminded me of the fit he'd had that one night…. What if it had happened again and he had assumed Astrid was an agent? She  _would_  have been patronizing instead of helpful…. I kept my face carefully blank, finally looking at Astrid when she hissed at me. "I want you to find that miserable little fool and end his life!" Astrid took a deep, calming breath and pinched her nose with her eyes squeezed shut. "But first… find my husband. Make sure he's all right. After the attack, Arnbjorn flew into a rage. When Cicero left… Arnbjorn went after him. They disappeared into the wild. Search Cicero's room. Maybe there's something in there that sheds some light on where he might have gone. Let me know the minute you find something. I've got to see to Veezara, and calm everyone down."  
_You're barely calm yourself,_  I sneered in my head, but kept calm outside. This didn't feel real…. "Did something happen to set him off?"  
Seri opened her mouth to say something, but seemed to think better of it, instead only looking at Astrid accusingly. Astrid looked back at me. "No, nothing. At least nothing I'm aware of." She turned to Seri, who gave Astrid a patronizing glare before Astrid turned back to me, gesturing me to follow her a few steps away from the crowd. "Well…. If I'm being honest, I haven't  _exactly_  been discreet lately in expressing my frustration with this whole situation. Obeying the Night Mother. You being the Listener. It's ridiculous! No offense. Cicero…  _may_  have overheard me talking to one of the others about the Night Mother. It's possible I was… not entirely respectful. And then we  _might_  have had an argument about it. But to go this far. To attempt to murder the leader of a Sanctuary…. Cicero must pay with his life. There is no other option." I hated how nonchalant she was about it all – couldn't she see she was wrong? Couldn't she see she was forcing the Brotherhood to split, forcing us to become weak again? Astrid sighed, and put a hand on my shoulder that I instinctively shrugged off. "Look, Alysa, the Dark Brotherhood is a family. This Sanctuary is a  _family_. And, we've always welcomed those shunned by society. Werewolves, wizards, eternal ten year-old vampires…. What does it matter? In truth, I've rarely met a lunatic I haven't liked. Cicero's problem isn't his madness: it's an adherence to an ancient, outmoded way of life! The Night Mother's ways simply are  _not_  our ways. He just couldn't accept that. And now he'll have to pay the price."  
"Cicero destroyed any sympathy I may have had for him when he wounded Veezara. Kill the fool and be done with it," Babette said quietly, not meeting my gaze as she fussed over Veezara, muttering about being bested by a fool.  
"Very well. I'll see what I can find," I said coldly, stalking off to Cicero's chambers. I didn't know what I felt, but I knew it wasn't all that different to being alone – so very alone.

Betrayal, hurt, numbness…. These were words I had been taught, words to meanings I had once understood but since unlearnt and forgotten, and now they were back, if this is what they were and if what I felt could be put into words.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I carefully sifted through Cicero's things – his oils and tools and a few oddments he had collected over the years. I ignored the presence in the room with me, and kept searching. "I'm so sorry, Alysa."  
"Go away, Seri. You've long ago given up a chance at friendship we might have had – it's not as if you care, anyway."  
"I do! I just want–"  
" _No you don't!_ " I hissed, rounding on her. "Leave!"  
I'd never seen her look hurt before, but she swallowed, nodded curtly and left me alone in Cicero's room.

After hours of searching, I finally found a series of journals he had written – from when he had been sane right up until the end, the last entry had been about me several weeks ago – perhaps a day after I left for Dragon Bridge. A painful cold enveloped me, and I finally left Cicero's chambers. I glanced in the Night Mother's direction, wondering how she had stayed silent through this. She didn't give me any answer this time.

I made my way to Astrid where she sat with Veezara and told her that Cicero was headed to another Sanctuary, and I would ride there as soon as I gathered a few poisons. I headed to the alchemy lab where Babette was mixing a potion. I took a few bottles of ice poison and turned to leave when Babette grabbed my arm and pulled me around to face her. "You listen to me, girl, and you heed my words. Don't you  _dare_  do what you don't want to – no matter what Astrid tells you to. For once listen to your heart and follow it blindly the way normal people do – without thought of reason or gods or leaders or the kill or anyone or anything. If you love him as much as I can see you do, do what you know is  _right_ ," she whispered fiercely, letting me go and pushed me gently. "Go; I'll see you when you come back."

I was left with strange emotions, and I had no idea where I would even begin to sort through them.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I was greeted by Seri who had packed my things over for me, including a few warm furs and capes and lots of mead and food. We said nothing to each other, and I snatched my pack and walked past her. Veezara stopped me when I passed him and Astrid. "Do not underestimate Cicero. A man like that, small and foolish, is easy to mock. To underestimate. Don't make the same mistake I did."  
I only nodded in reply. Festus and Gabriella were discussing Cicero, and Astrid yammered on about a special horse who was 'one of us' called Shadowmere. Festus looked at me briefly, and nodded his goodbye. "Well, you know the old saying: When life gives you lemons, go murder a clown."

I left and went out to the pool of tar I had seen a while ago, and called Shadowmere's name. The black surface bubbled and boiled, and I took a few steps back warily as a large, void-black steed with glowing red eyes rose from the depths with a feral scream. I could see what Astrid meant Shadowmere was one of us. The horse walked towards me, and touched his nose to my stomach.  _Listener_ , a chorus of voices resounded in my head, neither male nor female, though slightly more masculine, and I knew he would serve no other after me so long as I lived. "Dawnstar," I said after I mounted, and he tossed his head, spinning around as I touched the reins. Shadowmere bolted along the country at speeds I had never thought possible. I would be in Dawnstar in less than a week at this rate.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I was worried about Cicero – I had heard stories of what Arnbjorn did to his prey when he caught them as a wolf, and if that had happened to Cicero…. Shadowmere sensed my urgency and flew across the country, his hooves barely touching the ground, his ears flat against his head as we raced north. Dawnstar was a quiet little city – barely bigger than a village, but it was capital of the Pale Hold – so everyone would know of a fool and a werewolf passing through.

Hopefully.

We arrived in Dawnstar just at twilight, as the sun drowned in the Sea of Ghosts, mist rising from the surface of the water. Shadowmere trotted down the central road to where a group of people stood, huddled together and talking frantically. I touched the reins lightly, and Shadowmere tossed his head, coming to a stop next to them. "What happened?" I asked.  
"Sweet Mara, a  _werewolf_  is what happened! Ran right through the town, out along the coast, howling and snarling! The Jarl has sent men to look for it but they aren't hunters and they haven't picked up the trail yet!" an anxious woman cried.  
I glanced down at the horn of my saddle to hide my bitter scowl. "I'm a hunter. Which way did it go?" I looked back at the group. They all pointed to the road leading out to the sea, and one said something about it disappearing around the coast. I nodded, and Shadowmere needed no urging. We galloped off after Arnbjorn, and I scanned the land to my right for a Black Door.  _It is much further along the coast, my Listener_ , Shadowmere's voices resounded in my head. I nodded, and let him guide me to the Door, hidden between hills and snowbanks with the forest behind it. He slowed to a trot, halting beside Arnbjorn, who sat on the ground, clutching his stomach to keep the deep gashes Cicero must have given him from bleeding too much. I dismounted, cussing to myself about werewolves and their seemingly permanent state of undress, whipping out a few healing potions and pulled off my cloak. "So you made it, huh Tidbit?" Arnbjorn quipped.  
"Shut up," I snapped, tossing my cloak at him. "Drink this, Wolf."

Arnbjorn growled at me, but managed to gulp down the healing potions with some difficulty. It healed the worst of the gashes to the point where they weren't bleeding as badly, but he would still need a healer to fix him up before he could go anywhere. I tore off long strips from a blanket Seri had packed, and tied them around the still-bleeding wounds as best I could. "When did this happen?" I asked.  
"Not long before you came, Toothpick. Sithis dammit!" he swore when I pulled the makeshift bandage tighter. "But don't worry – I gave as good as I got. Just follow the blood trail once you get in. I would have followed the bastard, but I don't know the passphrase."

I just kept tying the bandages in place. Arnbjorn was beginning to shiver, despite his Nordic heritage. "Come on, you need to get back to Dawnstar and to a healer." I helped the werewolf stand, wrapping the cloak tightly around him as Shadowmere grudgingly knelt for Arnbjorn to get on. I mounted just behind the saddle, and my steed raced back to the coastal city. The sun was long gone by the time we arrived, and an old Dunmer healer ran out with a few townsfolk and helped Arnbjorn down and into a house. I stayed on Shadowmere, pushing myself over the cantle and into the seat, waving them all away when they tried to usher me in as well. "Now is the best time to hunt the wolf –  _alone_ ," I added when one looked as if he wanted to join me. "I don't know you, so it's safer for me to hunt the beast as I know how. I'll return once I've killed it."

Shadowmere and I turned and raced back along the whitewashed coast to the Door. I dismounted, taking my bow and quiver as well as an arsenal of healing potions. But I was afraid – suddenly, and with a crippling force. "Lucien Lachance," I managed to force out, thinking of Festus and his curt lesson on summoning. I prayed to Sithis and the Night Mother the old assassin would appear.

"You called, Listener?"

I turned to my left and stumbled back at the pale blue form of an Imperial assassin, once a imposing and fearsome in life. He wore the old, floor-length robes and hood Cicero had described as those belonging to the Black Hand in the third era, and Lucien folded his hands into his sleeves. "Shadowmere, my old friend…. It is good to see you again," Lucien greeted the daedric horse, a blue hand reaching for the steed's nose.  _And you, Speaker Lucien,_  Shadowmere answered, his voice suddenly very feminine, as if he had been a she before. I shook my head. "Follow me," I said to Lucien, and he walked with the grace and air of a practiced killer.  
"What, is the  _illusion_ , of  _life?_ "

"Innocence, my brother."

 

* * * * * * *

 

The Sanctuary was the largest I've ever seen, and full of undead guardians Lucien and I dispatched easily, while Cicero's voice bounced off the walls eerily, cold and cruel – it was as if he didn't recognize me the way he taunted and jeered and begged in the end. Even the troll was easier to kill than listening to Cicero mock and plead – the blood smears and splatters on the floor…. I feared for the fool, for myself. Lucien stopped me once we had passed through most of the Sanctuary. "I will kill this jester if you so desire, but there is a disturbance in the Void. Our Dread Father does not wish this."  
I looked at the ancient Imperial, trying hard not to look too hurt and confused. We passed through the last passages without incident, and came to a pitifully barred door.

"Cicero admits, he thought the Listener would be dead by now. Heh." A wracking cough came from the other side, and it was all I could do not to charge in to heal Cicero. I opened the door slowly, and walked in with Lucien trailing behind me. "And now we come to the end of our play. The grand finale!" Cicero jeered.

"Cicero…" I breathed out, running towards him and falling to my knees beside him, curled on the floor in a sticky smear of his own blood. "Drink this, you idiot," I whispered, forcing him to drink all the potions I had with me, forcing him to be still while he stared at me, both in hate and confusion and without any sign of recognition. Lucien left the room at some stage.  
"Alysa, Alysa…" he breathed when I emptied out my last potion on him, finally recognizing me, the one cradling him. I nodded with a twitchy smile, and lay down next to Cicero, holding him close as we slept. There was no way I could hope to move him back to the city and expect him to live through it. I could only hope and pray that Sithis and the Night Mother saw fit to let him live.


	29. There's a Pain that Goes On and On

**Chapter 28: There's a Pain that Goes On and On**

Cicero had been so cold, so still when I had woken up that morning. I felt numb, as I had been before we met. I laid him down on the cold, hard stone, and left. I didn't notice Lucien walking beside me until I finally ended up outside the Sanctuary in the bright, harsh sunlight. Shadowmere, even, seemed stilled, only blowing gently in my face before standing quietly so I could mount. The ancient Speaker kept up with us on our gallop to the city, where I stopped briefly to check in on Arnbjorn. He would be travelling-fit in another day or two, they said. I found I couldn't quite bring myself to care.

Shadowmere didn't travel back to the Sanctuary as quickly as before, probably sensing that I was hesitant to return. Either way, my journey was quiet, slow. Alone.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Perhaps two days of wandering in the Pale I had the urge to run – flee. Shadowmere was bolting through the thick of some snowy pine forest – Lucien returned to the Void after a pack of wolves took chase – and Shadowmere had just outrun the last of them. We burst into a clearing, and I pulled hard on the reins, throwing myself off his back. I could tell he was furious by the way he snorted and stamped in the snow, but something was weighing on me, and I fell to my knees. I felt… hollow? Empty? Heavy, light? As if I was nothing? I didn't know, but it felt….  _There cannot be a word for this, there cannot be something that can describe…_. I sat in the snow for hours, finally starting to shiver now and again as the ice melted around me and soaked into the leather.  
Shadowmere stayed behind me, almost as if on guard. A stream bubbled nearby – or far away. A breeze rustled the trees, birds flew and chirped.

And I sat in the snow.

Dimly I heard my name being called, a shape slowly coming closer.  _Oh, Sithis no…._  It was Uthgerd, carrying firewood. Suddenly I thought of the Dragonborn, and his lover, and it was as if a wall broke somewhere inside me. Choked sobs quickly turned into gasping wails as the older Nord almost carried me to her camp. The Dragonborn was there, bringing blankets and food and lighting the fire as quickly as he could. I could hear them speak but not what they were saying. I think Uthgerd held me as she might have held her daughter, rocking me as she shushed me, and stroking my hair as I cried – lamented.

When my wails finally turned to sobs, and they finally turned to tired hiccups I heard she was singing an old Nord lullaby. My world went black soon after.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I jolted awake in the early hours of the morning, my eyes still puffy and swollen from crying. Uthgerd lay on a bedroll not far from me, Tar on the other side of the fire, and Shadowmere was watching me as I washed my face in the snow, and quickly wrapping my face in a red scarf I fished out of a saddlebag – my cowl and hood was soaked through from the snow and my tears. I mounted quietly, but obviously not quietly enough. Tawarthion stirred, and Shadowmere sprang into action, spooking their horses and the elf and Nord were awake in seconds. The scarf whipped around me as my steed bolted, the muffled cries of the Altmer and Uthgerd fading fast. I needed to get back to the Sanctuary.

Shouts still sounded behind me, and slowly the dull crunch and thud of pursuing hooves started up. I shot a glance behind me and saw the Dragonborn in pursuit on a creamy-white horse. "Run, Shadowmere! Home!" I breathed, leaning low over his neck. The daedra horse surged forward, grunting and huffing with each stride.  _Cyrodiil was easier to traverse,_  he complained, running through thick snow and weaving through the thicket. I stood a little higher in my stirrups to free him for movement, and glanced back at Tar.  _Duck, Listener!_  
I responded late, a thin, ice-coated branch slapping me in the face and cutting my cheek. My scarf was ripped free, and I shook my head, a little stunned. My cheek stung, and pushed Shadowmere faster. Soon we were flying across the snow, and Tawarthion probably gave up the pursuit. Snow was falling again, and it wouldn't be long before we would need to take shelter – hopefully I would be so much closer to the Sanctuary than I was now.

 

* * * * * * *

 

We stopped over in Riverwood a week later to buy some supplies for the trip back to the Sanctuary, and I found myself by its Door on the dawn of the fourth day after Riverwood. I had bought too much for the trip, but Festus and Nazir surely wouldn't complain about it – they'd only argue about who would be the master chef and life would go on as usual. The thought struck me a little harder than I had expected it to, and I rested my head against the throbbing black stone. It was warm in the late summer dusk. I breathed deeply, forcing my emotions away, deep into a part of me I had packed away as a child. There was no need for such trivial things anymore – only what I needed for the kill. I straightened, placing my palm on the Door. "Silence, my brother," I said, walking into the Sanctuary, pack and belongings slung over my shoulder. I walked down the winding corridor and stairs, subconsciously sneaking down them to Astrid's chambers. "Well, then, Cuz! I told you we could take care of both of them! And now our  _other_  plan doesn't need to take effect…."

I stopped walking.  _Seri?_

"At what cost, Seri? My husband is  _missing!_  What's to say he isn't dead? What's to say those two didn't start a whole  _new_  Sanctuary ov–"  
"Astrid," I greeted, walking in. It wasn't difficult to look disinterested and blank.  
Astrid plastered on a tense, twitchy smile. "Alysa, it's good to see you again. You succeeded in killing that…  _fool_ , then? And what of my husband?"  
"Cicero is dead," I said numbly. "And Arnbjorn should be well on his way here now. He needed to rest for another day when I left, and I wanted to bring you the news as soon as I could."  
Astrid's smile turned genuine as relief flooded her and she half-chuckled. "Thank you, Alysa! Go, rest: I'm sure it will do you good."

I lifted my chin, and spared a glare at Seri's poorly hidden smug expression. I just didn't feel like fighting right now. I wandered through the Sanctuary, and finally settled at the alchemy lab, unwilling to go further. Babette stopped crushing something in a mortar. She turned around to look at me, and I met her gaze for a few seconds. Her shoulders slumped a little – I think she knew what I had to say without even bothering to explain. "Alysa! You're back!" Aventus cheered. I turned my head to look at him, dipping my head in greeting to the Imperial and the Dunmer not too far behind. "So… is it true what happened? About Cicero and Veezara?"  
"I don't know – what did Astrid tell you?" I said coldly, turning away from the man and mer sitting behind me.  
Aventus fell silent, almost definitely looking between Babette and Uvelaes for support. "We were out on contracts when it happened, and I am not sure I believe Astrid's tale of a madman's rampage to kill everyone on a simple and sudden whim," Uvelaes spoke softly, that air of arrogance craftily masking his distaste for Astrid. If I tried hard enough to care, I might have felt pleased and proud about that.  
"Well, we'll never know because he's dead," I half-spat bitterly, standing and taking my things to my bed and pack them away. Before I headed up the stairs I dumped the extra food I had on the dining table as I passed a tired-looking Festus hunched over either a cook book or some arcane theorem. He only huffed, and the chair creaked and cracked as he leaned backwards in it. I trudged up the stairs and dumped the last of my things on my bed. I folded my clothes into my chest and took my weapons down to Arnbjorn's forge. I didn't know much, but I knew enough to keep my weapons in decent condition.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I skipped dinner to finish up, spending an hour in the washroom, and when I finally went to bed most of the Sanctuary was turning in. It seemed we all agreed it had been a rough day, for some or another reason. I packed my daggers and my bow into the chest. I sunk into my bed, and just before my eyes closed I realized this was wrong. My eyes flared open.

I flung the covers away from myself, and threw open my chest. The lid thudded dully on the board at the foot of my bed, and I started unpacking my things. My bow, quiver, daggers, rucksack, armor, civilian clothes, gold. I could hear the grumbling complaints of sleepy siblings – especially from Aventus. I scowled to myself – they could have to deal with it. I shoved what I could into the rucksack, and carried what was left.

I was moving into Cicero's chambers, and I would act as the Night Mother's Keeper and her Listener. I hadn't forgiven her yet for allowing this to happen, but then – she was only the mortal matron of the Dark Brotherhood, and Sithis was the divine being. That was how I saw it, despite the rumors that the Night Mother was one of the Daedric Princes. Surely she could have known, could have stopped it…?

I shook my head, trying to clear those thoughts, sneering at them as I stalked into the familiar chambers. I shot the coffin a glance as I passed it, and dropped my things in a heap at the foot of the bed. I went back to my old bed to make sure I had everything that was mine, and closed the chest. I turned to see Uvelaes propped up on an elbow, almost falling off the same bed Aventus was sleeping in. I could almost feel the sympathy in the Dunmer's eyes – good thing I couldn't feel much. I turned and stalked down the passages for the last time, locking myself into Cicero's old chambers and climbed into his bed.

The pillows still smelled like him.


	30. Live and Let Die

**Chapter 29: Live and Let Die**

_So cold, so numb…. Hehehehe! A joke! A joke for the Fool of Hearts, sweet –_  Cicero stops thinking as the pain shoots and stings and burns through him. Oh, how that  _dog_  had clawed and grated and bit….  _And now Cicero lies on this cold stone floor…. Alone, again – always alone. Is this what the Void feels like, Unholy Matron, Dread Father?_  Cicero shivers, shudders. Oh, if only my Listener was here….  _But there is_ no  _Listener….  
_ Cicero's world goes hazy, fuzzy…. Cold, numb. Why did this Sanctuary have to be so cold? None of the others were this cold…. Were they? I don't remember… don't know. Does Cicero care? He doesn't know; what he  _does_  know is the wolf is almost dead, and so is Cicero….

And then there was the Intruder. Oh, how Cicero hoped they would be dissuaded… he had tried his jeering, his taunting, his threats and finally his begging, and then he enticed them further in, hoping, praying to the Night Mother and Sithis that they would be dissuaded, killed…. Especially when they saw the troll. What was his name? Her name? Unde-, Ude– Cicero doesn't seem to know anything anymore.  
_So numb, so cold… so very cold, and numb,_  Cicero closes his eyes – so the time has come for the Grand Finale – the Fool of Hearts a twisted, broken  _thing_.

But then  _she_  came, and there was something sweet Cicero tasted, something warm that held me close to  _her_. Whoever  _she_  is,  _she_  is not Mother – Mother wouldn't learn to walk for her Keeper, her Fool of Hearts. But this woman… Cicero feels as if he knows her… Alice? Alicia? Al… "Alysa, Alysa…?" he wonders out loud. Oh, and what a fool Cicero is…. To think that dawn might come again, just once more, just… once….

Just… once more… to see  _her_ , whoever she is….

 

* * * * * * *

 

The time for mourning and feeling was over – and a voice in the back of my mind reminded me why I had long ago discarded emotions for others. I hugged the pillow closer for a brief moment, then let it go, pushing myself out of bed and whatever emotions I might have still had deep down and buried them in darkness. There was a contract to finish – an Emperor of Tamriel to kill. I freshened up, and headed for the training area as quickly as I could. Something was bubbling up just beneath the surface, a feeling I couldn't place and I certainly wasn't going to wait for it to pass – it was one that dictated:  _move, hunt, kill, fight_.

Without thinking I fell into the routine Cicero had shown me, going faster and harder at all the training dummies and imaginary foes. I snarled, slashed, stabbed, kicked. I ducked under imagined swords, rolled upright to backstab and cut the throats of imaginary Oculatus agents. I was gasping for air, still snarling when Aventus blocked one of my attacks.

 _Sparring partner; fine,_  I snarled, and ran at the young Imperial, ducking at the last moment and smirking with satisfaction when he stumbled. He was quick to steady himself, and we clashed. Between the breathless insults we threw mostly out of habit, and the wild swings Aventus gave, and the constant ducking and whirling I ended up doing to attack him, he was sweating as much as I, and when we took a moment to part from out dance, I felt myself shaking slightly. I shook my head at Aventus. "Enough, enough." I waved at the training area in general. "Go on – I'm done." I walked out, wiping my forehead. It had been a long time since I had pushed myself so far – so hard. But my mind felt clearer, more able to deal with the immediate task of assassinating an almost untouchable Emperor whose personal bodyguards hated my Family. I bathed quickly, donning the Brotherhood's robes and shouldered Seri out of the way when I passed through the sleeping quarters for a breakfast that was neither typical of Festus or Nazir.

I eyed it suspiciously, ladling it into a bowl and sniffed it. It didn't smell quite as strange as I thought it would. A soft 'humph' behind me made me turn, and scowl slightly. Festus was leaning over a collection of books, scrolls and letters, a half-smile barely visible on his face as he scrutinized me. "He used to do the same thing whenever I cooked, you know," the old wizard said softly, then scowled darkly and turned back to the book he was reading. I pretended to ignore the statement, knowing full well who 'he' was, and tasted the stew. I was surprised by the exotic taste. "This is a rich man's food," I complained, sitting down at the table across from Festus, breaking off a piece of bread from a nearby loaf to soak in the stew. I had no idea what was in it, and I wasn't sure I wanted to know.  
He snorted, and glared up at me. "It's a recipe from the Gourmet, probably the very best chef there ever was and will be."  
I blinked at Festus as he poured over the book again. "Do you know who's handling the next part of the Emperor contract?" I asked after a pause.  
"I am."  
"Oh." I glared at Seri out of the corner of my eye, and I could have sworn she did the same thing.  _Gourmet… chef…._  "The next contract has something to do with this chef, right?" I knew I was irritating Festus with my pauses and questions, but he would simply have to deal with it. "Well, how  _long_  did that take you,  _Listener_?" he scoffed, eliciting a bout of wracking coughs. I raised my brows at him when he briefly met my gaze, and his hard stare was enough to tell me to leave it be. It wasn't my concern, anyway. "This contract has two parts, actually. The first concerns finding the Gourmet, since no-one knows who he is, or where he's staying – only that he is on Skyrim. Assuming the Gourmet is a man, of course…" Festus said. He pulled a cook book closer, opening the cover and tapping the first page. It was signed by the Gourmet to one Anton Virane. "So Virane knows the Gourmet's identity, and the Gourmet is in Skyrim, I assume?" I tapped the dedication.  
"Yes, that seems to be the case. The Gourmet was brought up by the Empire when our dear Emperor was supposed to pay a visit – since he hasn't, the Empire has kept him comfortable somewhere in Skyrim should the Emperor change his mind," Festus nodded curtly. "You'll find this Virane fool in Markarth, in the kitchens of Understone Keep. Mind yourself there – I've heard that a certain Justiciar is rather fond of taking Nords prisoner on a whim." Festus huffed again, scowling even more darkly.  
"He'll have to mind himself when I'm there, or he'll find his luck will turn. The second part of this contract is to go to wherever the Gourmet is, and kill him," I finished, leaning back and placing the spoon in the empty bowl, licking my fingers where some of the stew and bread still clung. "Not so fast – you'll need to hide his body, and hide it well because you need to become the Gourmet to kill Titus."  
I paused, looking up from my nails at Festus. "He's in Skyrim?"  
"Not yet – but on his way. Where exactly is a bit of a challenge. You're on a time limit here, and it's especially important you  _hide the body_ ," Festus stressed.  
"Yes, yes! Hide the body, be the Gourmet, of course!" I scowled, snatching up my bowl and washing it with a little more vigor than necessary. I felt my cold rage take over when Seri sat with that stupid smirk on her face. "Yes, smirk, little rich brat – your plan worked, and now your false little world is perfect, isn't it?" I sneered at her, pleased with the way she paled, and her pretty green eyes widened. I stalked out, the only thing that stopped me from killing her the Five Tenets, and ignored Nazir's exaggerated look of interest. Uvelaes dipped his head when I passed him, and Aventus gave a strange wave.

It was time to ride out, find the Gourmet. I didn't need anyone, not a single soul. Everyone had either left, or pushed me away, or died.  _How could I have been such a fool to let him in? Am I no better than another Fool of Hearts?_

_Or am I just a Fool of Broken Hopes?_


	31. A Truly Gourmet Meal

**Chapter 30: A Truly Gourmet Meal**

Markarth. It seemed that everything that led to my greater glory started here, and again I was standing in front of the gates to the ancient Dwemer city. Shadowmere had made the ride easy, and although I wasn't as desperate to reach my destination as I had been on the way to Dawnstar, we still arrived about two days earlier than I would have, had I used a normal steed. I clenched my jaw.  _I should forget_ Dawnstar _and all of that,_  I shook my head, dismounting at the stables. The stable hands glared at my daedra horse with a mix of fear and hate, and I glanced at Shadowmere's eyes. They had apparently turned from red to black. They were eyes that didn't quite belong to a normal steed, but they were much more natural looking than his usual, glowing crimson. I grabbed a small bag from the saddle, then touched his forehead and left him in his stable, walking into the city. I was stopped by a man with five large dogs following him, who asked if I would be headed into the Keep.  
"Why?"  
"This is spiced meat for the Jarl's dogs that needs to go to the kitchen to one of the servants there – Anton Virane, the head chef, or one of his assisstants, will be able to tell you which one," he said, holding up a heavy sack. "Besides, there's coin in it for you if you deliver it," the man added. I glanced at the large sack of meat. It was a way into the kitchen, where I wanted to be…. "Of course; I'll take it up for you."  
The man smiled gratefully, thanking me as I walked away.

The guard paid me no mind once I explained the delivery, and I stared at the patterns the stone paving made beneath my feet. I was wearing that stiff, uncomfortable brown leather again, and stopped by a bridge, looking up at Understone Keep. I trudged up the many stairs and over the bridges until I finally arrived at the doors to the keep.

I pushed them open, and ignored the debris and chunks of stone lying haphazardly on the ground, still stuck where it had fallen from its heights many years ago. It surprised me that any Jarl would want to live in a place like this – it should have been left for the Dwemer. Only they could find solace in such a cold, hard place.  _You would have liked it once, too,_  a niggling voice in the back of my mind whispered. I shrugged my shoulders, trying to shift the leather into a more comfortable position around my torso and shoulders. I should have ordered a customized set, instead of buying the standard sizes available in any armory of Skyrim.

A solid form jarred me out of my thoughts, and I glared up the golden armor with a growing sneer. It was one of the bodyguards to a Thalmor agent, and this lackey's sneer matched my own in disgust. "Watch yourself,  _Mortal_ ," he hissed through his teeth. My fingers curled around the dagger at my belt, ready to whip it out and across that soft, tender golden skin at the elf's neck. Would their blood be as gold as their skin, or would it be as red as everyone else's?

I never got the chance to find out, because another Thalmor soldier called the first to attention, and quickly gave out orders in their tongue. I sneered at them, and walked past the elf, my shoulder brushing against the elf's. I bit my lip to stop from grinning outright at how he stumbled back a step, throwing the sack of meat over my shoulder and carried on up the stairs. I would have liked to see what color they bled out – assuming such self-righteous  _things_  could even bleed at all.

The loud barking of dogs and the ticking of nails across the stone floors was the only warning I had to prepare myself for three unruly creatures, all vying for the sack I carried. An elderly woman half-ran, half-hobbled over, clutching at her skirt and apron. "Oh, oh dear! Oh, I'm so sorry, Dearie! They're only excited for their food!" she called, then whistled sharply, snapping her fingers and pointing at the ground next to her. All three dogs immediately quieted and ran to her side, lying down on the ground. "Wish I could smell good food the way they do," I said, my lips twitching to a half-smile as I swung the meat to hang by my side. "Where do you need me to put this?"  
The woman smiled. "Thank you, Dearie. This way," she waved a hand, and started walking to the kitchen, with the dogs in tow. "Just there on the table, Dearie," the woman pointed to a sturdy wooden table in the farthest corner to the left. Food that smelt oddly like Festus's last meal wafted down from the right, where a Breton man stood in front of a large cooking pot, hanging precariously over a warm fire. I looked at the man curiously. Was that Anton Virane? I hoped so. The old woman came close to my ear. "Don't stare too much, Dearie," she whispered. "That's Anton Virane, the Jarl's cook – well,  _chef_. He doesn't like it when people watch him work."  
"Sounds like my uncle," I replied without really thinking – Festus was that way inclined, too. I dropped the meat on the table. "Is there anything else I can help you with, anything at all? It's really no trouble at all, especially since I'll be in town for a while."  
The woman looked torn between telling me that there was much I could do, and sending me on my way. Eventually she nodded, and I was set to work in the kitchen. Thankfully, very little of the work I was doing had anything to do with preparing the food, but it left me with enough time to observe Anton Virane.

And what a fascinating Breton he was.

I couldn't wait to kill him. Well, interrogate him  _then_  kill him.

The slightest implication at anything Forsworn set him off on a rant for at least an hour, about how he wasn't such a barbarian, but a true Breton of High Rock and so on and so forth – or something like that. He was almost as finicky about 'cuisine' as Festus was – he should have been the one to take this contract, given that Festus would have had something to say about Virane's cooking. I sniggered to myself as I cleared away cooking utensils and cleaned them. Eventually the evening's meal was prepared, and the woman had left early, complaining of stiff joints and other ailments. I hope I never get so old as to feel age weaken my body – not that I ever will, all things considered.

Either way, I, the assassin Alysa Ice-Wrath, was officially alone with my target.

"I know you're a close friend of the Gourmet, Aton Virane," I said, sweeping the floor slowly, deliberately.  
He stopped whatever it was he was doing. "The Gourmet?" he asked after a long pause. "Don't be ridiculous,  _Native_. I merely admire such a great chef."  
"I'm sure that's why you possessed a signed copy of his book," I replied, stopping to watch the Breton. The corners of his mouth were starting to twitch. "Don't believe what I say, and rather let me give you proof." I put the broom to one side, reaching for the small bag I had brought with me when I came into the city, and took out his book. I grinned, waving the book at the now deathly-pale Breton.  
"Who are you? What do you want?" he whispered, swallowing hard.  
"Ah, I want to know who the Gourmet is, of course!"  
"Th-the Gourmet?!" he stuttered. I almost thought he would give in there and then. "Never! I'll  _never_  betray the trust I earned! The Gourmet's secret will go to the  _grave_  with me!" he hissed furiously as he stood.  
I sighed, tutting dramatically as I stalked closer, smiling again. "Oh, that's too bad…. See, that can be arranged – with the Dark Brotherhood."  
The Breton sank back onto his stool, the bravado he had paraded gone. Virane's mouth was making shapes, but no sound came out. "Da- dark Brother- brotherhood…. Look, let's not get hasty, alright?" Virane chuckled nervously. "I'm sure my friend wouldn't want me to endanger my own life, right?"  
I smiled at him. "Of course not! Now, the Gourmet's name?"  
"Yes, yes of course! His name is Balagog gro-Nolob – he's an Orc! Also, if you're interested…" he trailed, terrified. I loved the smell of fear. I raised a brow for him to continue. "He's staying at the Nightgate Inn, on Lake Yorgrim in the Pale. That's all I know, I swear on the Divines! You'll let me go now, won't you?"  
I stepped closer to the Breton. A kitchen knife was on the table between us; I put the book down, smiling coldly as I touched the Breton's face. "Of course. Thank you, Anton Virane."  
He just looked relieved when I plunged the knife into his throat, twisting the blade.  _All that hard work to clean this place up was wasted, wasn't it?_  I grumbled, quickly washing the blood off my face and stuffing the book back into my bag, leaving Understone Keep behind, not bothering to take the time to fully appreciate the frozen stare of horrified terror on the Breton's face. Leaving the handprint wasn't worth it either – it would give away my plan. I'd have to wait on the Emperor to leave my mark – and even then, I might be hard-pressed to place it…. The city gates would still be open for a while, until the body was found, so I might still be able to leave Markarth tonight and avoid the hum-drum of investigations into Virane's murder.

 _If_  I fled the city.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I just received my pay for delivering the meat and mounted Shadowmere when the city bells began to toll, signifying the hunt for a murderer was on.  _Sweet Sithis,_ I swore, snarling. I threw my hands up the horse's neck and grabbed a fistful of mane, gripping the saddle with my knees to raise myself slightly as he half-reared, leaping forwards into a gallop. We just made it out of the city in time. I laughed despite myself – it truly  _was_  exhilarating to kill inside a city.  _What would Cicero have said about this?_  I suddenly thought. My mirth dissolved instantly, and I leaned close to Shadowmere's neck. "Nightgate Inn, the Pale," I said to him. His only reply was a muted whisper of ' _Listener…'_  before adjusting our course into the far end of the Pale.

 

* * * * * * *

 

_So much blood…. So much death…._

_Was this really how things turned out in the end? No – no, there is no Void, no Sithis. There is…_ something _. Something that we reach – reached? – for, something worth the effort, and the pain, and the joys and blood and the death – but it's gone now. Still there, but not_ here _. Best keep busy while we wait for it all to finish…. Or begin – it doesn't really matter,_ that _one won't come back for a long, long time…._

_And so we go on – the Pale, the Reach, the Rift… everywhere in between was – is – ours to play in, and play we shall, oh, what fun, what joy…._

_There was something sharp, something warm and wet, something steadily breathing slower and struggling to gasp in that final breath – does it make him happy? It did – it does – but it isn't the same as with_ that _one, the_ only _one…. Will we see_ that _one ever again? We should hope so, but there – there is another, another who calls for this sharp thing, this emptiness, this… Void. Another one to help us while the time away, until it all finishes, or begins…. Whichever one comes first, or doesn't come at all…._


	32. Recipe for Disaster

**Chapter 31: Recipe for Disaster**

_Ah, we remember what we were before now – we were one and one, he and he, and then it became me and we… isn't that so? There was family, and enemy – many of the enemy. I – we – had a family. Two, actually, but only one mattered. Our father, our mother, and the many brothers and sisters across all the land. And then all these terrible things started happening to us, the Family. It started when our Enemy found our siblings, and took them, tortured them, killed them, and finally found our homes, and killed us all. It was awful…. So much blood, so many sisters and brothers dead all across the land. And then – and then our mother's ears could Listen no more, her mouth Speak no more, and her Hands could not take action, and we had to take her and look after her as she had for us…. Until they almost found us, and we had to run. We ran and ran and ran until we found our last home, the final place we could call our Sanctuary. And there we had found the last of our Family, the last of our brothers and sisters…._

 

* * * * * * *

 

Nightgate Inn was the most godsforsaken, forgotten and awful place on all of Tamriel. I was entirely convinced of the matter – no other places could be such a hell. "Stay here, Shadowmere," I whispered to the horse, leaving him in the lean-to that made up a two-horse stable. Another horse was left in the stall next to the daedra horse's, and the bay snorted and rolled his eyes in fear. I headed up to the inn, and left the cold and snow behind. It was a small place – perhaps three rooms at the most – and a considerably small common room for the people to sit in. I saw one patron sitting in a corner, nursing a tall tankard of alcohol, a curved sword at his him. The man looked up, sneering as he snorted. "Hadring got another customer, eh? Beds and beer are both lousy, ya ask me!" he finished, shouting at me.  
"Fultheim, really!" an old man scolded from behind the bar. He smiled warmly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Welcome, Traveler! Is there anything I can get for you?"  
I padded closer, pulling my cloak tighter around me. I hadn't changed out of my Dark Brotherhood armor once I had left Whiterun Hold – it was quite simply warmer than the standard leather. "A food and a bed," I said, laying my pack at my feet.  
"Of course; I'm Hadring, as you've heard," he introduced himself. "This way to your room, if you will." I followed the old Nord to a long, narrow room with a surprisingly cozy-looking bed. "I'll have your food ready in a bit."

I simply nodded, dropping my pack onto the bed and drawing the curtain over the doorway once Hadring left. I changed into simple robes, tucking my armor into the bottom of my pack and shoved it under the bed. I was treated to a surprisingly good meal of mashed potatoes, a horker steak and heated, spiced mead. I ended up sitting at the counter, partaking a one-sided conversation with the innkeep. He was proud of this…  _inn._  "Tell me more about your inn, Hadring."  
The old man chuckled proudly. "This old place? Been here on Lake Yorgrim forever!" he dried a tankard, then continued. "Well, it's been in my family since my great grandda built it."  
"That's quite some time – I suppose you get travelers passing through here often?" Any idiot could see that only the drunk in the corner was here often enough to keep the place standing.  
"Well, no – just the odd traveler and old Fultheim over there." He dropped his voice, throwing the towel over his shoulder. "I think Fultheim is here to drink away the memories of a bad life, really. And then there's the other resident, the Orc."  
"Yeah! The guy keeps mostly ta himself – seems like he has ta; kinda sad."

The drunk in the corner was beginning to irritate me.

"He keeps to himself?" I asked Hadring. He nodded, explaining the Orc's routine to me, and further saying that, with the rate Balagog was paying, the Orc could continue to do as he pleased while he called the inn home. I merely nodded through the chatter.  _The best chance I will have to kill him and hide the body is when he walks outside to look at the little pond, and hide his body under the pier…_. I excused myself as soon as I had finished my meal, stretching out on my bed. It wasn't even dusk yet, but I didn't feel like doing anything other than lying on the bed, thinking. Or not thinking, but just…  _being._  I couldn't help the wry smile and chuckle that escaped me as I settled on the covers: I sounded just a little like Cicero when I said that. I breathed in deeply, and let it go slowly. I had the whole afternoon tomorrow to kill the Orc.

Assuming we were alone outside.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I leapt out of bed, daggers in hand and ready for whatever was coming my way, breathing hard and scowling.

It was only once I recognized the inn surroundings that I realized I had woken from a dream. What it was, I couldn't remember – but it was one of the worst dreams I'd had in a long time if I woke up like this…. I sighed, sheathing my daedric daggers and dropped them onto the bed, the sheets mostly on the floor. I pulled the curtain away from the window, and stared up at the full Masser and Secunda moons. Blood-red and bone-white. It was cold, this close to the window, and any other person would have thrown the curtain closed, and scurried for the bed.

I opened it instead.

A cool breeze came in from over the mountains, Ironbind Barrow's path just visible from my room, and one of the Dwemer buildings much further to the left. But I wasn't the only one who was up at this late hour of the night, washed in the blue, red and white hues of night. The Orc – Balagog, Gourmet, whatever – was coming out of a trap door from the inn's cellar, wrapped tightly in a luxurious fur coat. It made my blood boil just to see him dressed in such a presumptuous,  _rich_  manner. I shut the window and let the curtain fall over it. I needed to see of this Gourmet had any writs which would provide him with access to the Emperor should he be called upon.

It was almost obscenely easy to break into the cellar, peruse through Balagog's things, take his still-sealed writ,  _and still_  avoid waking the inkeep when I helped myself to a fancy-looking bottle of wine I very almost dropped. It was chilled with ice magic, and the frost liquefied almost immediately at my touch. I considered putting the bottle back, but I'd already gotten this far – might as well take it. I placed an empty bottle in its stead, and headed back to my room. I didn't like wine, but that didn't mean that, as Listener, I couldn't lay claim to finer specimens I certainly couldn't pronounce. It might make for a wonderful poison against Astrid and Seri for all the gods-cursed things they'd done to cause all of this…. Either way, I might get a laugh out of their deaths, if not true revenge. It was a win either way – they'd be dead, and I wouldn't.

I snuck up to my room just in time to hear the Orc stomp down the stairs to his bed.

What a productive day so far.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Breakfast was leftovers warmed up from the night before (which was drastically more dangerous-looking than any poison Babette could conjure up). I felt awful from having woken up too early, and only falling asleep an hour before false dawn, and the innkeep's continued jokes about hangovers and their many cures was only feeding my desire to kill. It was almost noon when the Orc finally came up in his heavy fur coat, greeted the innkeep, bought a round of drinks for the local drunk, wished me a good day, and went outside to stand by the pond. I almost sighed in relief – it was time.

I paid for the room, packing and gathering my things with an empty promise to return. Shadowmere looked almost as excited as I felt when I tied my things to his saddle, leaving his little stable open so he could join me when he so chose. I was dressed in the Brotherhood's leathers, and pulled my cape around me, my hood over my face before I stalked up to the Orc. He was just at the end of the covered pier, so close to the pond…. I pulled up my cowl, drawing my dagger.

My breath hitched in my throat, my senses sharpened.

Everything seemed to slow down around me, waiting for me to react.

I moved.

Blood gurgled down his throat, and I struggled under the heavy weight of the Orc. "You've served your last meal, Gourmet. Pity it wasn't for the Emperor," I whispered to him. I never got to watch his eyes widen, fear and denial shining bright and glorious within them as he died. I threw him in the pond before his blood could pool at my feet. Shadowmere was waiting for me. I quickly ran to the side of the pier, dragging the waterlogged corpse under the pier, tying him down to the posts. No-one would find him for months, probably. And my boots were close to being waterlogged themselves.

I left the pond, leaping onto Shadowmere and heading back home. I needed to report in on the disappearance of the Gourmet, and we needed to plan out the Emperor's assassination. It wouldn't be long now until his arrival here, in Skyrim.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Gabriella was waiting for me at the Door again. "I never did give you payment for the previous assassination. This is token from a dear friend of mine, Olava. She lives in Whiterun, and she is quite the gifted seer. This is not an opportunity to be missed, and she is expecting you, no doubt. However, this is not your reward for killing Maro in a Hold capital. It is your bonus, and this gold," she handed me a heavy bag of gold and a smooth, square, semi-precious stone of green and deep pink. "It's tourmaline, and Olava will only accept  _this exact stone_  for the reading. If you are not passing through Whiterun on the way to the next contract, keep it someplace safe, here, in the Sanctuary. Now, Festus has been arguing with our youngest brother, and I doubt you will be able to get much out of him that  _isn't_  insulting."  
And just like that, Gabriella brushed past me – probably to deal with her own contract. A traveler on the road had spoken of more and more people calling on the Dark Brotherhood to  _take care of_  certain matters. I had hoped it was true. I headed deeper into the Sanctuary, walking its halls with an almost unfamiliar familiarity. I heard the shouting match between Festus and Uvelaes, and I was glad that I had missed its opening lines.

Almost everyone was gathered in the dining room, Nazir barely able to suppress his deep laughter, Babette's furious attempts at mediating between a purple-faced, spittle-spewing Breton and a calm, snide Dunmer who kept reaching for his right shoulder as if he would find a quiver there. Aventus was meekly sitting next to Uvelaes, hoping no-one would ask his opinion on anything arcane.

"Conjuration is the most pitiful excuse for magic in an assassination! Where is the experimentation, the  _feel_  of the fire or the ice or the lightning taking another's life? Or what about turning them inside out?" Festus growled.  
"Why go to such great lengths only to end up covered in the stink and grime of a Destruction kill, when it's much easier to cover your tracks as an assassin by having a daedra kill for you? In any way you want that person to be killed…. There are  _far_  more possibilities for interesting new ways to kill people using Conjuration than if one relied solely on Destruction!"  
"You insolent  _pup_!" Festus roared, his hands giving off that awful magicka glow. Uvelaes was completely unfazed by a series of increasingly descriptive insults and threats, instead turning to Aventus with an amused smirk.

"Enough." I called, coming down the stairs when Festus stopped to heave a breath. He broke into a harsh coughing fit almost immediately, and a strange flicker of something constricted my chest.  _Cicero would have worried,_  I thought before I could collect myself. Babette and Uvelaes were both up and intent on helping the old Breton calm down. The little vampire raced off to her potions cupboard and the dark elf guided the old mage to a chair.

His wracking cough barely came to a stop when Babette forced some purplish-green liquid down his throat. "Let's agree to disagree, mm?" Uvelaes grinned. Festus only scoffed and scowled, grumbling to himself. "Welcome home, Listener," Uvelaes greeted smoothly.  
"It's good to be back," I sat down across the table from Nazir.

"Well, girl? Did you find the Gourmet and hide his body like a good little assassin?"  
I narrowed my eyes at Festus. "Of course. He's tied under the water at Nightgate Inn. I have his writ allowing him into the Emperor's presence, and now we wait for the Emperor to appear somewhere."  
"I have good news on that front," Aventus interrupted, grinning brightly. "Word from Cyrodiil is, he's headed up to Solitude on the Katariah – his personal ship – and should be here by Sun's Dawn."

Sun's Dawn It is Sun's Dusk currently – somewhere close to the end, if not already Evening Star…. "The good news is that today is the first of Evening Star, so we only have two months to wait for the Emperor to arrive in Skyrim," Aventus added.  
"It  _is_  good news…" I nodded. "Where are the others?"

Nazir was the first to speak. "If you mean Astrid, Seri and Arnbjorn, they rode – and ran – out several days ago. Something about their contracts being in the same area or something like that. If you mean Veezara…" he just chuckled, apparently finding something amusing.  
"What about Veezara?" I pressed.  
"He's been disappearing every few weeks for a few days to Arkngthamz, a Dwemer ruin in the Markarth Hold. I suspect he's been exploring it, but he always comes back with the strangest look of ease for all of two days, then starts worrying enough to shame a mother hen!"

"That's not like Veezara," I frowned. Astrid and company didn't bother me too much – I already knew they were a threat, and bound to betray me sooner rather than later. But Veezara… he had always been the most open of us all, and for him to suddenly keep secrets was far beyond out of place. It must have been something very important for him if he was this tight-lipped about it. "Has anyone followed him to Arking-whatever?" I asked.  
Babette nodded. "I did, once. He circled back to the Sanctuary and went again just a day later. When I went to Arkngthamz after our Shadowscale, the place was crawling with bandits and Dwemer contraptions. He must either be getting information from them or is currently sifting through which of those would be likely recruits. I can think of no other reason he would spend so much time there."

I nodded. I had another suspicion that tied in with the conversation we'd had the day before Vici's assassination:

_My lips turned upwards darkly for a moment. "I appreciate it. But what if you get caught or killed? It's not as if we have so many dispensable siblings; and besides – you're the last Shadowscale. Someone has to teach the next Argonian who turns out to be like you."  
Veezara grinned slyly. "Let's just say I'm not as alone as I thought I was."_

_Let's just say I'm not as alone as I thought I was…._

Not as alone as he thought he was?


	33. Patience is a Virtue. Fear is a Hunting Demon

**Chapter 32: Patience is a Virtue. Fear is a Hunting Demon**

Seri, Astrid and Arnbjorn came back almost two weeks later, and not once did they mention a contract – completed or newly assigned. Arnbjorn was cold as usual, but he was just as cold to Astrid, and once I heard them arguing over why she and Seri had left him behind somewhere, covering their tracks with bits of silver so he couldn't follow them. Uvelaes and Aventus both noticed my growing unease with them, and – probably on Uvelaes' orders – at least one of them was always close to me in the background. It was irritating most of the time, but the fact remained that I didn't know what they had planned, and if Arnbjorn had gone with, but had been left behind…. Seri and Astrid were planning something big, and I didn't like it.

Veezara came back two weeks after that, his armor tattered and torn, but I had never seen him look so utterly…. Ecstatic? Relieved? At peace? Emotions I had discarded again were blazing over his face, his eyes, his very being. I envied him. "Veezara, can I talk to you?" I called, stopping him from heading to the washroom.  
He gave me a toothy smile. "Of course, Alysa."  
I managed to return a tight smile, and motioned for him to follow me. We stood in the small room in front of Ci-  _my_  chambers. "How have you been?"  
"Well, and yourself?"  
"Well enough, all things considered." No-one needed to know how desperately I was clinging to the fading scent of a sadistic clown, no-one needed to know I was trying to study what Keeping tomes I now possessed to act as Keeper and Listener, titles I wasn't sure I wanted anymore.  
"Ah, I see," the Shadowscale nodded sympathetically. "Is there something you wanted to talk about in particular, Alysa?"  
I nodded. "A while ago you said you weren't as alone as you thought you were. I was too focused on the assassination to ask what you meant, and then Babette mentioned you've been visiting a Dwemer ruin quite often recently –"  
"No-one else can know about this!" he hissed, stepping closer to me.  
I narrowed my eyes. "Everyone already noticed. If Astrid doesn't know yet, Seri will tell her soon. Either way, what you do there isn't my business until it becomes dangerous to the Family."  
"Yes, of course. Alysa… there is  _another_. But I cannot say more, not yet. Astrid  _will_ find out soon, as you said, and the only way I can continue visiting this Dwemer ruin is if you, as Listener, send me out to scout for new members."  
"Another like…?" I asked, almost disbelieving his entire statement. If what he said was true…. "Fine, I'll send you out tomorrow, and take as much time as you need to…  _find_  your recruits."

I'd never seen any one person look so thankful before. But this, however he had stumbled upon it, was huge for the Dark Brotherhood. It was exceptional.  _If_  it was true.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Seri had the look of a child caught with her hand in the honey treat jar whenever I made eye contact with her, and for the life of me I couldn't find out why. Astrid had shuttered herself in her chambers, and even Arnbjorn had a hard time getting close to her. She had handed the task of killing the Emperor to Festus, who ended up sharing it with Babette and Gabriella, when the Dunmer woman was in the Sanctuary. So Babette was the one who handled the assassination in the end. This was one plan she didn't quite relish – it was too boring for her liking.

"It lacks flair and drama! I'm  _so_ glad you're doing it, Alysa," she complained.  
I rolled my eyes. "That's what you always say –  _unless it's a wedding_ ," I rush to fill in before she can say it. The little vampire  _still_  wishes she had done Vici's wedding – or at least attended. We were seated in the arcane corner, all the papers and extras I'd need for the assassination scattered over the table.  
Babette pouted, then pointed to the writ. "Obviously this is important. Thankfully, Commander Maro doesn't know your face yet, so you'll show this to him when you arrive at the Castle Dour in Solitude. Thereafter, you'll probably be working with the chefs there to make whatever dish the Emperor requested – I suspect the Potage one –"  
"Potage le Magnifique! And Listener, you still haven't collected your payment and bonus for the previous contract," Festus scowled from the spell altar.  
"Yes, the  _Potage le Magnifique_ , as Festus said, so it should be fairly easy for you. Although, you might need to add in some 'special ingredients' that only the Gourmet placed in his special version of the meal. Finally, you'll need to put this root in if you plan on poisoning the Emperor." Babette placed a long, twisted and knotted root on the table. "This is the Jarrin root; it is  _extremely_  poisonous when ingested, so don't eat it by mistake. A single taste will be enough to kill the Emperor, or anyone who tastes the food; so make sure only the Emperor eats it, or the mission will fail. It's fine to touch, though. Nothing's happened to me, at least."  
"You're a vampire. Nothing can happen to you. But fine. I'll put the root in last, right before I serve the Emperor his greatest meal ever," I replied dryly, not in the mood to continue this conversation. I want to head out, and make a stop in Whiterun to cash in on Gabriella's bonus. Not that I trust some strange woman's supposed predictions.

And Festus was right – I had been home for two months and I haven't stopped the old mage once to collect my dues.

I had convinced myself it was because I had been busy covering Veezara's absences from Astrid and trying to keep Seri in the dark without cutting her off completely, and finding out why she looked so  _guilty_. It made me want to carve out her eyes and tear her face apart. But the real reason I had been putting off my meeting with Festus was because I was…  _afraid_.  
Afraid of another conversation about the Keeper, and I wasn't up for that. Thinking was one thing, but talking and  _feeling_ …. That was beyond me, far beyond. Babette stood and left, heading out to Falkreath for the market with Aventus. They ended up looking similar enough to each other that Babette had made a point of tracing their heritage – perhaps they 'really were related by blood'. Personally, she was just bored and loved any excuse to word-play with 'blood'.

I leaned back, stretching my back and arms before wrapping the root in a white cloth, splaying my fingers on the table. Festus sat down across from me. "Two-thousand gold for the assassination of the Gourmet – Sithis keep his soul for me in the Void – and this enchanted ring," he wheezed, coughing as he carefully placed the ring on the table next to the coinpurse. It was a plain, black band with a square sliver of amethyst inlaid on the top. "This is the Nightweaver's Band, a ring I used when I was younger. Its enchantment improves sneaking and lowers the cost of destruction spells, though I doubt the latter will be of use to you," he chuckled to himself. He started to say something else, but frowned and pursed his lips instead. "Good luck on this one with the Emperor, and don't get caught, Listener Alysa," he patted my hand, then stood and hobbled down to the training room.

I stared at the wall opposite me until Babette had come back with a heavy basket of herbs.

 

* * * * * * *

 

 _There was stone and snow, and a butcher. No, a_ Butcher _, and he knew how to cut and carve, and what was good and what was not. He knew the tendons and the sinews, the joints and the bones, the cuts…. And he took what he wanted, but never ate it, until one day a laughing, killing jester found him. But now…. Now it is Cold and Black, like the Void; and there is no-one, nothing – just the nothingness that is the Void. Or, perhaps the Void was_ something _, just not the something others thought of…. But what of a firelight there? And a flicker over here? Nay, something was something, and nothing was nothing. That is how it is, and perhaps, just perhaps, this was something of nothing…._

 

* * * * * * *

 

I rode slowly on Shadowmere, appreciating the harsh Skyrim landscape as it lay around us. The ruins of Helgen were still smoldering from the dragon attack so long ago, and not even bandits dared live within the charred and burnt walls of my home village. It had changed so much since I had been there, and the broken remains had made it difficult to move through the blocked and fallen in streets. Shadowmere had been steady and surefooted through the mess, leaving me free to look around me.

I found I didn't even miss the place, didn't find the random memories of a once-good childhood pleasant or unwanted. They simply existed. It might have been fascinating, if I wasn't preoccupied with the lingering smell of death and burnt humans and animals. Helgen wouldn't stand on this land again – perhaps somewhere else, many years from now. I rode out of the village, moving my hands slightly up Shadowmere's neck, and he broke into a gentle lope. It was snowy and cold mountain country, and only relinquished its snow when Riverwood came into view less than a day later. I was grateful for the warmth of the inn, although the elf-Nord-Breton love triangle was infuriating. And strangely… I found it rather petty of the woman to string both of them along like that. But I couldn't bring myself to do much more than hole up in one of the many rooms in the inn. It must have been quite a popular place.

And then Whiterun came along the following afternoon, and I rode up to the large stables that doubled as a horse breeding yard. A group of excited stable boys ran up to me, eager to take an unruly stallion off a slight girl's hands.

I smirked. "Shadowmere," I breathed.  
His ears flickered backwards, and he reared up with a low squeal, striking the ground hard with his hooves. "I'll take him inside, just make sure a stable is ready." I dismounted, and only one older, more muscular boy stayed, and led the way to a stable. I took my pack from the saddle, walking to my steed's face and motioning for him to follow me. A sigh and a nose in my back told me he was following. I left the daedra horse with all the comforts he could want – which left my coinpurse considerably lighter – and meandered up the busy path to the city. A Khajiit caravan was camped at the base of the walls, calling to passersby, mewling and hissing to each other and small kittens I couldn't help but stare at. They were surprisingly…  _cute_. The word didn't settle well with my general feel, but they were something to see. It brought the first twitch of a genuine smile to my face in a very long time.

I hurried past, managing to push through the throngs of travelers and merchants trying to get into the trading capital of Skyrim and get inside before the guards started turning larger groups of people away. I almost made it to the Bannered Mare when light fingers brushed by my coinpurse. I snatched the hand, yanking the person closer to me with a snarl. I came face to face with a young Breton child – she couldn't have been older than eight – with large, innocent green eyes and a broad, gap-toothed grin. "My 'pologies, miss. Must've mis-stepped!" she called as I let her go, instinctively checking for the rest of my possessions. I glared after her as she ran off behind the houses. I checked into the Bannered Mare, ignoring the wolf whistles and cat-calls of drunken Nords and other unpleasant men. I locked my things in the tiniest room the inn had, and stopped a barmaid for directions to Olava's house. "Be'ind Breeze'ome, the one for sale down the road to the gate!" she shouted over the ruckus of a bar brawl.  
I sniffed in disgust, and left the stuffy alcohol-stench behind.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Olava had been quite easy to find. She was sitting outside her house on a bench, staring up at the sky. "Olava?" I asked, coming closer.  
It took her a few seconds to look at me and answer. "Come to Olava for a reading, did you? Sorry, pup, but I'm not quite in the mood," she said, then stared up at the clouds again.  
"I have a token of yours."  
"Oh?" I finally had the woman's attention. "Let me see it, then."  
I handed her the small, square stone. "Oh, goodness me! You're a friend of Gabriella's, then."  
"I am, yes. Will you give me a reading?"  
The old woman scoffed, frowning at me briefly before grinning mischievously. "Yes. Yes, I surely can. It's not something I do lightly, mind you, and it's not as specific as you might want, remember that, Friend of Gabriella's. But yes. I will do this for you. Please, come sit by me, and relax." I stalked closer, hesitantly sitting down next to the old seer when she scooted over. She immediately took both my hands in hers, holding them firmly between hers. "Free your mind. Yes, that's it…."

I was beginning to think only Gabriella knew what she was doing when she gave readings. But I took a deep breath, and cleared my mind anyway. Olava closed her eyes.  
"Yes, yes…. I see… a cave. No, not a cave. A…  _home?_  A place you feel secure, anyhow. You will find safety there, sanctuary, so to speak. But your destiny is dark, dark like your past. Oh yes, so dark. But! much of it has been fulfilled. You have found your sanctuary, and the comforting words of a mother's unconditional love. And you have companionship, both from your siblings and your lover. A child of night, and a stalker of the sands, and a wandering troubadour. The troubadour is lost for now, but will find the path home. Together, you are a  _family_." She stopped suddenly, her grasp on my hands suddenly becoming painfully tight. "Oh, but before you are family, there will be blood! Such blood!" Olava gasped deeply, and I started tugging my hands away.  _There will be blood! Such blood!_  I couldn't lose any more of my Family! "Wait!" Olava commanded. "There's something else: a potential for adventure, and wealth! It is a ruin, ripe for the plunder. Deepwood Redoubt, far to the northwest…. Through there, this Deepwood Redoubt, is… Hag's End. The last resting place of an Assassin of Old. A Dark Brother, who bequeaths his ancient earthly possessions… to you, Alysa."

I wrenched my hands out of hers, terrified for the first time in years. My heart was thundering in my chest, and more a moment I couldn't breathe, couldn't move.

But the moment passed quickly, and I ran. I ran, weaving between the houses and finally ended up in front of a massive white tree. It was just beginning to bloom, and the flowers where pure white and deep pink. I stared at the tree, amazed at the sheer size of such a thing. I breathed heavily, slowly walking closer to it and touched the smooth bark of the trunk, running my fingers along the grain.  
"The Gildergreen is quite awe-inspiring, don't you think?"

I spun round, my back to the tree. A priestess had spoken, and judging by the light green and white of her robes, she must have been a priestess of Kynareth. She laughed, covering her mouth shyly. "Forgive me, I thought you had heard me come up behind you. Stay as long as you like, and let the Gildergreen ease your troubled thoughts. Our lady Kynareth hears all through the leaves of the Gildergreen."

And just like that, she turned and left. I looked up at the branches high above my head. Yes, I would stay for a while, for the peace I needed to think Olava's prophecy through.


	34. A Meal to Die For

**Chapter 33: A Meal to Die For**

_I've found the Sanctuary in Dawnstar, that's the home Olava mentioned,_  I thought, running through the prophecy for the umpteenth time since I had heard it that afternoon. It was sometime close to midnight, and I was lying on my bed in the inn, staring at the ceiling.  _'Child of the night' must refer to Babette, because she's the only vampire I know, unless a new sibling comes along. Stalker of the sands… Nazir? He came from Hammerfell. But what about the others? What about Uvelaes and Aventus? The pretender –_ I sneered at the title I gave Astrid, surprised at the sudden pain the associated memories brought –  _her husband, Seri, Veezara, Festus… Gabriella. Olava said nothing about them. Why? Were they not important enough to mention, or am I missing something else here?_

I half-sigh, half-growl as I roll upright, rubbing my hands over my face.  _'Mother's unconditional love' can only refer to the Night Mother; reference to all the blood means either many contracts will die by our hands and thus unite us as a Family, or most of us will die somehow. This is_ not _an ideal situation. And then there's the 'wandering troubadour' Olava spoke of…. The only troubadour I knew was the Keeper, and he isn't alive anymore. He can't be alive – I heard his breath stop, felt his heart slow…. There's no way in Oblivion, the Void, or Sovengarde he could still be alive!_  I took deep breaths to steady myself.  _No, that can only have been something she said to shake me up. He. Is. Dead._ Dead! _I was there! I was there…._

I lifted my gaze to the sky outside my window. No guard would allow a lone person out of these gates at this time of night, but I wanted to wander around. I stood, pulling a cloak around me as I left the room. I locked the door out of habit, and went out into the slightly warmer air of Whiterun Hold. Few people were out aside from the three or four guards I passed, and I passed by the mead hall of Jorrvaskr. I stopped to stare at the building, not thinking of much in particular. "You interested in joining, Kinswoman?" a voice asked.  
I turned to see a woman dressed in ancient Nord armor armed with a hunting bow, and three long, dark stripes across her face flanked by one tall and broad, and another, slightly shorter and leaner, Nord men who looked to be brothers. "No, my skills aren't quite suited for open combat, as might be required of a Companion," I faced the three of them, unsure of what to make of such an imposing group.  
"We could always take on the quiet types – I'm a huntress, after all. If you change your mind, just say Aela the Huntress recommends you. You look like a woman of spirit and action, and I like that," Aela declared, giving me a wolfish grin I suddenly recognized as the one werewolves tend to give.  
I couldn't help the huge grin that spread over my face. "I'll keep that in mind, Aela the Huntress. Alysa Ice-Wrath."  
Two of the Companions grinned at me, and the shorter of the two brothers scoffed, looking away. "We should get back to Jorrvaskr," he said quietly in a heavy, yet oddly pleasant, Nord accent.  
I nodded in greeting as they walked away. I wondered if they would catch Arnbjorn's scent on me, if I adjusted the cape around me. My Family's werewolf had a habit of sniffing out where everyone went when he was particularly bored, and I was sure Aela might do the same subconsciously.  _He hasn't done that in a while, actually_ , I suddenly realized, adjusting my cloak. I could swear I saw Aela pause and glance behind her, but I was already on my way back to the inn.

I'd be out of this city by daybreak.

 

* * * * * * *

 

 _Sithis-cursed Forsworn camp,_  I snarled, three Forsworn grunts dead behind me, and a camp-full ahead. Deepwood Redoubt was swarming with the Bretons, and I had no doubt that Hag's End was somewhere inside the camp. I'd have to come back with a sibling if I wanted whatever prize was promised – besides, a camp of this size  _had_  to have at least one Briarheart and one Hagraven. I slunk away, vowing to return with a sibling.

But I was becoming more and more concerned about my Family the further and further away I rode from them. I didn't like worrying about them this much – didn't like worrying about anything in general – but this was beginning to leave a bad taste in my mouth.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I was finally in the capital of Solitude, little less than two weeks after scouting Deepwood Redoubt. Security had tripled since I had last been here, and I had no doubt it had everything to do with the Emperor's presence here. I couldn't have stopped the grin even if I wanted to – no-one was safe from a Dark Sister. Especially not the target. I bought a room at the Winking Skeever, dropping a fair-sized coinpurse on the counter to buy anonymity and the most private room in the inn. I dropped my things on the bed, sorting through the few things I had brought with me. I had obtained a set of chef's clothes (which I promptly modified to tear off, when the need arises), along with a ridiculous chef's hat. I suspected I'd need them while inside Castle Dour. After that, it was merely walking in and announcing myself as the Gourmet, and then making whatever special dish I felt like. I supposed this 'Potage le- Magnifique' would be the dish to make, as Babette had suggested. It  _was_  the Gourmet's signature dish, after all.  _I'll need to make doubly sure of the ingredients if I have to make it myself_ , I thought, scanning through a copy of the Gourmet's book I had picked up in the common room below.  _Blah, blah, blah…. One of the resident chefs can prepare the most of it. I'll put some… special ingredients in. I'll make it up once I'm there._  I would only carry my daggers and writ with me in a satchel, along with my secret ingredient, the Jarrin root. The rest of my things were tied to Shadowmere's saddle, and I had called Lucien to keep an eye on things and take Shadowmere around to the Castle Dour bridge and tower during the night, and hide there while I completed the assassination. The Gourmet's writ detailed the bridge and tower as a discrete entrance for both the emperor and the Gourmet, if he so wished.

I knew Shadowmere would have moved around the city and hid in the forest by himself, but the matter was a simple illusion – people were less likely to approach a horse laden with daedric weapons and other goods if a ghost stood by it. The conjurer was surely nearby – summoned beings rarely left their summoner's side, and didn't get far before they banished themselves. At least, that was what I understood about Conjuration from Uvelaes' occasional, passionate lectures on the subject.

I would head into Castle Dour in the morning, and get the last of my things ready tonight. I could visibly display at most one dagger, my satchel was small enough to keep with me at all times. I'd lose the larger canvas bag and the leather armor I was currently wearing, but that was ok. I would wear  _my_  armor tomorrow. The chef's clothes would thankfully cover everything completely, so there was no need to try and cover that up with a coat or cloak or something else that would look cheap. I wasn't a seamstress – I only knew enough to get by as an assassin, and repair minor tears in my armor. I couldn't create whole new outfits that didn't look like they were made by toddlers.  _This looks good, my boots will at least be covered by the skirt, and a dagger strapped to my thigh will go unnoticed easily. If they search my satchel, they'll find the writ and the root, which I can pass off as my secret ingredient. They'll let me pass._  All I still needed to do was cut up the root into fine pieces, and place that in my satchel for tomorrow afternoon.

It was only a matter of waiting now. But as I tried to relax in my suite, that pit which had been growing in my stomach since I left the Sanctuary was heavy and painful. And, no matter how hard I tried to ask the Night Mother – and even Sithis – about it, I got no answer.

What would happen, considering how awful I felt?

 

* * * * * * *

 

I slept fitfully, and probably looked as awful as I felt when I left the inn, canvas bag and leather armor discarded under the bed at the inn. I was checking into Castle Dour this afternoon as per my writ, and I didn't have time to mull over whatever worries I had about my Family. I walked up to the Castle without really looking at the Pentius Oculatus guard. "Hold! Who are you?" he demanded.

I glanced up, shocked to see Commander Maro standing at the large wooden doors. It was all I could do not to stare in shock and then snarl in disgust. He looked haggard, as if life had eaten away at him.  _He's probably been that way since his precious son died. They should've known better than to mess with the Dark Brotherhood._  I handed him the writ. "I am the Gourmet, here as requested by the Emperor, Titus Mede the Second."  
Maro glanced at the writ. "Yes, yes of course," he waved a hand at me, suddenly recognizing the chef's clothes. "Go on through, Gourmet; one of my men will guide you to the kitchens."

I nodded, taking back the writ and following an agent inside. He motioned to a final archway, where I could see several cooks busy with food. "Thank you," I said curtly, turning away and walking into the kitchen. I almost wanted to laugh – I was so out of place here.

An Imperial woman looked up and right at me, and gasped, almost dropping the bowl she held. "Oh! Oh, you're a  _Nord_! I never would have guessed it!" she gushed, hastily shoving the bowl into a young girl's arms. "But,  _where_ in the world did you learn to cook like that?! Here, in Skyrim? Or, no – maybe it was somewhere less –"  
"Enough! I, the Gourmet, am here to cook, not make idle talk! Let us begin."  
I allowed a small smirk at the woman's stutter. "O-of course! Forgive me. I am Gianna, and these are my assistants…" she trailed, clearing her throat and gathering her wits while I glanced around the kitchen nonchalantly. "Well, the Emperor has requested your signature dish, the Potage le Magnifique. I've… taken the liberty to get it started already, but your cook book only says so much…."

I glanced back at her, nodding and following her gesture to a large pot in the middle of the kitchen. I peered inside as she kept talking about how everyone made the meal differently, even listing a few bizarre methods and ingredients. "But of course everyone makes it differently. A master never shares her secrets," I grinned, pulling on a ridiculous chef's hat. "We're going to make it  _my_  way just for the Emperor!"

Gianna looked ready to cry in joy. "We're ready whenever you are, Gourmet!"  
_Fabulous,_  I thought.  _I haven't the slightest idea what to put in…_. My eyes wandered over the shelves, stopping at a sweetroll. Cicero came to mind. "A sweetroll…"  
"A  _sweetroll_? Ooh, how decadent! I would never have guessed that!" Gianna gushed, looking at me expectantly. I hadn't realized I had spoken.  
"A splash of mead is next, Gianna."  
Assistants scurried around the kitchen, bringing everything to Gianna to place or pour into the stew. "What next, Gourmet?"

I was beginning to enjoy myself, so when I spied a certain ingredient, I simply couldn't resist. "Now we shall add… a  _giant's toe_!" I exclaimed. The entire kitchen went silent. I could barely suppress the grin on my face. "Forgive me, a…  _giant's toe_? Are you… sure about that?" Gianna asked, incredulous that such an absurd thing would go into a meal.  
I turned a glare on her. "Do not question the Gourmet! I said a giant's toe!"  
"Yes, yes of course! Be snappy!" she finished, snapping her fingers at her still-shocked assistants to take down the toe and cut it up. Festus would have disapproved of such an unsavory thing inside such a fancy meal. Gianna stirred the mixture while two assistants helped the toe into the stew. I was officially keeping that stew very far from my mouth. "I'm sorry about that, Gourmet. I truly am. What else is there to add to the stew?"  
"You must add a septim to the Potage le Magnifique."  
"A, a septim? As in, the gold coin?" Gianna looked excited. I nodded. "Truly brilliant! That would give the Potage le Magnifique a slightly metallic – but delicious – aftertaste! Exceptional…" she paused to taste the stew, humming in satisfaction. "I dare say, it seems done! Anything else and we may dilute the distinct flavours!"

I simply smiled and nodded. Obviously the giant's toe was quite the addition to the meal…. "There is a final ingredient, the one which makes the original Potage le Magnifique something to  _die_  for," I grinned, pulling out the diced Jarrin root. I was about to empty it out into the pot when Gianna stopped me. "Are you sure? Anything else may dilute the flavours…"  
I grinned at her. "Gianna…. Who here is the Gourmet? And do I not speak of a secret ingredient in my cook book?"

The Imperial woman blushed deeply with a nervous giggle. "Well, yes, of course! It's your recipe." She stirred as I added the root, and as she was about to taste the stew I gently smacked her hand.  
"Now now, can't spoil the very best for the Emperor, can you?" I chided.  
Gianna blushed even deeper. "No, I suppose not," she giggled. "Well, I'll lead the way up to the dining hall. But, before we go, I just want to say it has truly been an honour to work with the greatest chef in all, well, in all of the Empire!"

I simply smiled. "Lead on, Gianna."  
She nodded, and two young Imperial men took up either side of the pot, hoisting it onto their shoulders. "I'm sure the Emperor and his guests are  _dying_  to meet you!" Gianna gushed, quickly taking the lead. I followed, throwing the hat and my satchel down on a table, and the pot came behind us. I wouldn't need the writ to get out of here – I'd need speed and cunning. "Oh, Gianna?" I asked.  
"Yes?"  
"Are there many entrances to the dining hall?"  
"Yes! Two – the one we will use, and one leading out to a balcony and the Castle Dour Tower."  
"Ah, thank you," I said breezily. The very exit I had been hoping for.

So far, everything was running so smoothly, I could barely contain myself. The Emperor of Tamriel would soon be dead!

 

* * * * * * *

 

We headed up a flight of stairs and down a corridor. Two Solitude guards stood at the door, and I gave a small smile at them as I passed. The bad feeling was back again, but I had to play the part – there was too much at stake now if I failed to see it through.

Inside the dining hall was a long wooden table, with Jarls and ambassadors and Council Members and other royalty and nobility all along its length. The emperor and two nobles were discussing my previous targets, and the old man was assuring them of his safety, as well as theirs.  _How sweet,_  I sneered in my head. The Emperor stood, seated at the head of the table to my left.

"Aha! Here we are. Honored guests," he said, speaking loudly and clearly. It wasn't nearly as convincing as Tawarthion's voice was – but I supposed that had to do with the power of the Voice. "I present to you – the Gourmet!" he gestured to me, and I came up to his side, dipping my head at the rest of the table. The stew came in next, and the smell was quite delicious. "Ah, the Potage le Magnifique! So delicious. My friends, as Emperor, I of course reserve the right of first taste!"

The guests laughed at the joke, and the emperor chuckled in good humor. Then he turned to me and said, "I've been waiting for this opportunity for a long time, and you're not at all what I expected. I imagined you'd be fatter, honestly!" he laughed, and I hummed along with a tight smile. Titus spoke a little louder as he sat down. "Now, you've done your duty and we're all very grateful. I'd like to eat."

I stepped aside for Gianna and her assistants to ladle the stew into a golden bowl that made my stomach turn. I hovered behind Emperor Titus Mede II's chair, scanning the assembled guests for the Dragonborn and my client, Amaund Motierre. I could see neither.

And the fool ate the stew. "Oh! Oh how marvelous! Just delicious. It is everything I had hoped it would be!" he praised, and I smiled broadly, back by his side. "It…." He stopped, his face contorting. My smile wavered only slightly as he struggled to breathe. "I… I think some– something– thing's… wrong… I…" he gurgled, blood oozing out of his mouth as he convulsed, falling forwards into the stew. Women screamed, men shouted at the guards were all a mess.

"Hail Sithis!" I whispered, running for the door opposite to the entrance and pulling off the clothes I used to hide my armor. Gianna was screaming out denials and our innocence against accusations of murder, and I was out before the guards could catch me.

What had I been worrying about?

 

* * * * * * *

 

I was out of that death trap and right into something much worse outside. I skidded to a halt, my hood just in place. I sneered. "Commander Maro, what a surprise."  
The man scowled, clapping slowly, mockingly as two other agents came up behind him. "Well done, Assassin! That man was, by far, the most  _insufferable_  decoy the Emperor has ever employed!" he laughed hollowly. "I'm glad he's dead. Ah, but, do you know what? I'm even  _happier_  that  _you_  killed him. You, a filthy, low-class assassin for the Dark Brotherhood, have just made an attempt on the Emperor's life."

 _Sweet Sithis, that_ wasn't _the Emperor?!_  I bared by teeth at Maro.

"What? Didn't you think there would be a decoy in your great plan? Didn't your precious deities tell you this would happen? Ha ha! Just as pathetic as I had assumed."  
"You know  _nothing_  about us!" I hissed, furious. But I was worried, too – what happens now?

"You should be proud of your plan – it would have succeeded, had it been the real Emperor inside instead of that gods-damned  _idiot_. Tell me, are you really surprised to see me here, telling you about your failure?" I narrowed my eyes at the Pentius Oculatus agents, glancing between them all, my fingers inching towards my daggers. "I certainly was, when two members of your 'Family' –" he sneered, his fingers moving in quotation marks "– came to me with the plan. We worked out a deal, you see. An  _exchange_ , if you will. And we agreed to this: I get you, and the Dark Brotherhood gets to continue its existence!"  
"That  _bitch_  will pay for this!" I growled without thinking. This is what Astrid had planned when she left Arnbjorn behind! And why Seri looked so guilty before I left….  
Maro laughed heartily this time, slapping a gauntleted hand against his thigh. "Oh! So you know who came to me, after all? This just proves why the Dark Brotherhood has failed. You cannot eliminate your own when you know they will betray you. That, is weakness. But, do you know what?" he said, spreading his arms, his agents drawing their swords. "I've changed my mind! How about this? I kill you, and butcher each and every one of your  _miserable_  friends? Your Sanctuary's being put to the sword right now!"

My sneer fell away.  _The Sanctuary… my Family…. No!_

Maro crowed triumphantly at my reaction. "That's what I think of this 'deal'. You killed my  _son_! All of you! And now  _you'll_  pay the price. Kill her. And make sure there's nothing left to bury."

The commander stood back, and his agents charged forwards.

I reacted, whipping out my daggers, deflecting and twisting out of the reach of their thick swords.

I kicked out, tripping one.

Ducked under a wild swing, coming right behind the agent's defence and cut his throat, hauling him in front of me as the other lunged, impaling his companion.

I could hear Lucien calling me further away – was he below the bridge?

And then the second agent was dead and Maro charged forwards, screaming out his rage and pain. I flew around him, falling and rolling to my feet with the momentum.

I raced forwards, and slammed the pommel of my dagger into the back of his neck before he could turn. The Imperial fell to the ground, and I cursed when I realized the blow wouldn't kill him. But I needed to get back to the Sanctuary – needed to save the others if I couldn't warn them.

" _LUCIEN! LUUCCIIIEEEEEENN!_ " I screamed, racing down the stairs in the tower. I leapt down the last five, but as I jumped I felt a muscle pull in my ankle. I started falling, but cold, ghostly arms caught me.

"My Listener?"  
"To the Sanctuary! We need to go! They're  _already there!_ "

The ghost nodded, and Shadowmere was there as well, kneeling for me to pull myself into the saddle. I was barely upright before I dug my heels into Shadowmere instinctively, pushing him on and hoping and praying to Sithis and the Night Mother that we would be on time.


	35. Oh, What a Performance!

**Chapter 34: Oh, What a Performance!**

Lucien was a wisp of blue next to me, and Shadowmere was racing along the uneven ground of Skyrim at breakneck speeds.

But it still felt slow.  _They're already there…. Please, let it have been a lie, let me pass them on the road; let them be camped around the corner…._

But my silent prayers went unanswered.

 

* * * * * * *

 

We finally entered Falkreath Hold, and towards the end it became clear that the daedra have their limits. Shadowmere was coated in a slick sheen of sweat, panting heavily. Even Lucien in his ghost form was slowing down.

Then I heard the shouts, the commands. I dragged the reins to the right, off the main road. I smelt the heavy, thick smell of oil.

I howled, and threw myself off my steed, pulling out my daggers and charging at the first Pentius Oculatus agent. Lucien growled a curse behind me, and Shadowmere screamed.

And then there was chaos.

We attacked, and I dodged, kicked, cut, slashed and punched my way around the agents, doing my best to avoid the oil barrels and keep the fire away from them. Lucien followed a trio that ran off with a barrel, and a crash sounded through the forest, and the world stood still.

The cheers were enough to tell me the Sanctuary been breached. There was no more time to play. Thick smoke filled the air faster than I anticipated, and a sickening thought came to mind: the Sanctuary had been breached a long time ago, and something was caving in.

I had nothing left to lose, and I fought like it.

Instinct screamed at me to duck and roll out of the way when lightning arced past me and a freezing, violent blizzard tore through the remaining ranks of the agents. Perhaps three were still alive, and Lucien made quick and gleeful kills out of them. I ran towards where the magic had come from, thinking it was Festus who had blasted the agents.

Instead a strong golden hand grabbed my upper arm and pulled me to a stop.

"Alysa?"

I glared up into the golden eyes of Tawarthion the Dragonborn.

" _Let go of me_ ," I hissed, wrenching my arm out of his grip. "And while you're here,  _leave._  This is  _none_  of your business!" I raced past, ignoring him and Uthgerd. I needed to get to the Sanctuary…. I threw myself over the boulders, whipping round to the door. Barrels of oil crowded by the door, both full and empty, and the Black Door was shattered. Only two agents lay dead outside.

My eyes widened in disbelief. "No…."

Weak, wet coughing made me snap my head up to a tree, and I felt the blood drain from my face, and hopeless fear seep into my body. "Festus… Festus, I'll get you down, I swear it to Sithis!" I cried, racing to the mage where he was pinned to the tree, at least ten arrows in his torso, two Imperial swords holding him in place against the thick trunk.  
"Don't, Alysa, don't bother you idiot –" he wheezed, then coughed. Thick red blood pushing its way out of his veins, into his lungs. "I'm dead anyway, girl. Save the others. May Sithis and the Night Mother guide you, my Listener, and –" he coughed, blood spattering over my face.  
"Festus… don't…." I stopped as he suddenly stopped, his face ashen. "Sithis take you to the Void."

I heard Tawarthion land heavily behind me, Uthgerd not far behind. "Sweet Ysmir…" she swore, noticing the Black Door for the first time. Lucien chuckled darkly from somewhere, talking about sending them to the Void for interfering.

"Enough, Speaker. We have a Sanctuary to save. Let them be for now, but kill them if they get in the way."

I snarled at the Black Door, at the smoke that started billowing out of it from the inner chambers. I started moving towards the passage.

"We'll help you, Alysa," Tawarthion said, surprising me. I turned to stare at him. Uthgerd was already protesting. "We'll help you clear this…  _Sanctuary_ , but that is all."  
I dipped my head once. "Fine. Don't go any further than the main chamber, and help as many of my brothers and sisters get out as you can. Not that there are too many of us." I turned away and clambered over the rubble, following the black oil smoke into my home, my Sanctuary.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Just before the last flight of stairs into the Sanctuary, it shuddered and heaved, the Altmer and his companion slipping down the stairs in their steel. I stumbled sideways, but quickly rightened myself when the shuddering stopped. Two agents stood huddled around something, and one sneered at something on the ground to tell who had betrayed the Brotherhood, they wanted to know. I snarled, launching myself at two agents. They turned, and one threw me against an opposite wall, knocking the wind out of me.  _Calm down! Emotion won't save anyone!_  I gasped desperately, looking behind them as Uthgerd and Tar took them on. Veezara lay on the floor, bloody, cut and dying. The Shadowscale seemed to be on the last stretches of his life. "Veezara!" I managed, crawling over to the Argonian.

The Sanctuary shook again, and a section of the roof caved in where Astrid used to sleep. "Alysa…" he breathed, struggling to keep his eyes open.

"Take him outside, heal him as much as you can!" I hissed at the Altmer.

"Wait, Alysa, there is another one like me… another Shadowscale. In Arkngthamz, the ruin I visited. You  _have to find her_!" he demanded, a wild look in his eyes as he tried to grab me. "She must know, she has to…."  
"You'll find her, Shadowscale. Go with them," I moved back, standing as the Dragonborn lifted the limp Argonian, trying to be gentle as Uthgerd helped carry him out.

Both the elf and the older Nord gritted their teeth, whether it was annoyance at being inside the Sanctuary, or because they, like I, believed Veezara would die, I wasn't sure. I didn't even know why I had tried to comfort him – I suppose it was the shock that I was finally experiencing what Cicero had, back in Bruma  _and_  Cheydinhal. No wonder he had lost his mind…. I shook my head, now wasn't the time to think. "Lucien!" I called, running deeper inside where the flames roared and licked hungrily at the stone. The stairs were crumbling and falling away – I had to jump down to reach the main chamber.

Arnbjorn was surrounded by six Oculatus agents. They clearly thought they were winning, with their wet rags tied over their noses and mouths while Arnbjorn coughed from the black smoke. But then he smiled, feral and wild, throwing down the axe he carried.

And he roared, ripping through his armor as he phased into the mealy white werewolf. Two immediately dropped their weapons and ran for the exit.

They didn't make it, and the stink of fear was beginning to fill the place as heavily as the smoke. Arnbjorn was bloody, his fur crimson and black in the harsh firelight. There were two agents left, one distracting him and leading him to a fire. The other snuck around to the side, and behind him.

I ran forwards, shouting his name even as I gulped in the smoke.

But I was too late.

Arnbjorn killed the decoy, and as he stood on his back legs, his back exposed to the agent behind, a sharp whine escaped him, and his wolf head jerked down to his chest. He slowly changed down to his human form, stumbling forwards and falling onto his knees when the agent grabbed his sword, pushing his foot against Arnbjorn's back to help pull it out. "Fools! You shall join our Father in the Void!" Lucien roared, a blue wisp ahead of me to kill the agent. I raced in deeper, passing by Gabriella's corpse, a strangely peaceful look on her face as she lay beside Lis, Babette's pet.

Seri fought back to back with Nazir, but they were both bloody and tired, Nazir was bleeding from his side.

I jumped in, fighting with them and coughing in the thick smoke. The dining table and chairs were burning, and the wooden stairs to the sleeping quarters weren't burning.  _Yet_. Lucien was defeated in this fight, and when the last agent still stood, his blade caught Seri by surprise, and sliced across the soft flesh of her stomach. I howled, driving my daggers home into his face and neck, hauling them out as brains and blood splattered over me, the floor. Nazir had caught Seri as she tried desperately to hold her guts together. "I'm so sorry!" she gasped, her green eyes watering and wild with fear and remorse. "I'm so sorry Alysa! I never knew – I didn't mean –!" she stopped, sobbing, then died.

I glared down at my daggers as angry tears welled and fell. Nazir set her body down, clutching his side. For the first time I felt the sting of cuts over my arms, legs, the pounding of bruises elsewhere.

I coughed, my eyes watering even more from the smoke. "So you're alive, then? I was beginning to wonder," Nazir said, standing, his scimitar dragging on the stones.  
I nodded, and headed for the stairs. "It was a trap! Someone from the inside set us up!" I scowled, thinking it would be better to leave Astrid out of it until I could find that  _bitch_.  
"I figured as much, since almost everyone is dead. I'll admit I thought it was you until you saved my sorry ass just now!" he rumbled with a grin, coughing a little as we reached the top of the stairs.  
I snorted, throwing him a half-grin.

The Sanctuary shuddered violently, heaving and groaning.

"We have to get out before the place crumbles around us, Nazir! Go! We can talk later!"

"Some words of wisdom you have there, Alysa!" he sheathed his scimitar, immediately clutching his side and started running. We passed through the corridors, but I was falling behind as I stumbled along, losing my footing as the cavern continued to shake.

I was going to die inside my home, I realized. But I wasn't afraid – I didn't feel peace, though, either.

I was numb to the thought of death.

_Come to me, my Listener, and embrace my ancient bones…._

I followed the call without thought, running to the Night Mother's coffin and shutting myself inside, coughing violently from all the smoke in the air. I gasped in the cold and clear air, tasting the oils on my tongue as I gasped desperately, trying to stay awake.

A sudden thought came to me as I struggled to keep my eyes open, struggled to stay rooted in this moment: where were Uvelaes and Aventus? And what about Babette? Did she make it out, or had she perished in the fires, with nothing left to say she had lived?

Would Tawarthion help those who made it out? Or would he call others to kill my siblings? Would any of the others come in looking for me?

_Sleep, my Listener, and embrace your fate on this day, this one, true –_

A violent crash blocked out the rest of her words, and the coffin lurched, falling, and I tossed about inside, finally cracking my head against something metal.

 

* * * * * * *

 

 _Voices, voices – so many voices to hear. There was a butcher and then there wasn't. There was a mother and a father, and they would not speak. Not to him – me, us? Them? And then it was the end, and then_ she _came along, when everything was broken and being fixed and then she left…. And then there was that special lesson, and so everything changed again, with another she and a pet and a great many others, and then the family was happy, together,_ growing _. Thriving, even. And there_ she _was again, and then terrible things happened, and wonderful things, and things that may never happen again in this nothingness. This absolute nothingness…._

 

* * * * * * *

 

_Voices… I hear voices…._

I could only breathe; the blackness surrounding my head, pulling down on my body was too heavy and thick to allow anything else. They were calling, or singing, or screaming – I didn't know, couldn't really hear that well. There was too much around me which affected my senses. A few crashes sounded, and the shouting got louder and louder, until a shrill voice shouted nearby, sounding exasperated.

"I'm  _telling_  you, she's  _in there_!"  
"Why would –?!"  
The voices continued arguing until a slightly silky and smooth voice interrupted. "– out, either way."

I wished I could hear everything they were saying, whoever they were. Would they wake me up, take me out of this blackness I was in? I wanted them to lift me, and put me in a proper bed. I was horribly uncomfortable, lying on something hard and strange-smelling and inside something cold.

I was close to drifting off again when I was jerked awake by something which made what I was inside to lurch in a direction. My eyes flew open in shock, only to see a dark shape in front of me. I searched my mind: what had happened? What was in front of me?

"Hurry, you three! I'm telling you, she's in there! Stop huffing and start pulling!" a young voice called – the same shrill one from earlier.  
" _Shut up_  you stupid  _she-devil_! We're going as…  _uh!_  As fast…  _yyyyeeeeaaaarrrrrrggggg_! As we…  _nnnyyyyaaaahhhhhhh_! Can!" a deeper voice huffed, apparently pulling or pushing something close to me.  
"I don't see  _you_  helping!" a young man called, grunting from some kind of effort.  
"I wasn't exactly made for  _manual labor_ , in case you haven't noticed…" the shrill voice replied slyly.

Whatever I was inside rocked and swayed a little.

"How sure are you that she'll be inside, Child?" a calmer, male voice asked. There was something funny about his voice, something hiding underneath it….  
"No sane Nord would hide from a fire in  _that_ , no matter what kind of…  _profession_ … she follows," an older woman spat out. Her voice was familiar, too. How did I know these people?

I lurched forwards, my head connecting with – apparently metal – above my head. I swore, my hands reaching for my painful and tender head.

"See?! I  _told_  you she was inside there! Open it up, open it up!" the shrill voice shouted excitedly.

 _Shut up_ , I thought.

"Alright, here we go…" the silky voice stage-whispered, counting to three.

Suddenly a dim glow came in from above, and I stared right into the gaping maw of the Night Mother. I gasped in shock, squealing as I rocketed out of the coffin and fell over onto my back.

Everything came rushing back as someone with small, cold hands touched my forehead. I groaned loudly, prying my eyes open to look into the concerned brown eyes of Babette. Uvelaes was hovering by the coffin, and Aventus came with a waterskin. Nazir was huffing and swearing elsewhere, judging by the deep rumble I heard.

"Thank Sithis we're alive," I breathed, throwing an arm over my eyes before rubbing my face. Aventus helped my sit up, and held up the waterskin. I drank slowly from it, and I tried to ignore Babette's insistent prodding all over my body. I knew she meant well, but I hurt  _everywhere_.

"Hm, drink this," she finally said, snapping her fingers at someone behind me. Heavy footsteps moved and metal chimed and chinked as the person came closer. I turned stiffly to see that Tawarthion and Uthgerd were still here, and he held out a potent looking potion. The elf offered me a small smile, his eyes glancing over the Night Mother and her coffin curiously, cautiously. Babette took the deep pink potion and uncorked it, holding it out to me. "Drink, Alysa," she commanded, her eyes glowing red briefly.

"She-devil," I muttered to myself as I automatically reached for the potion, pretending that she hadn't used an Illusion spell on me.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I felt better once I had seen everyone around me was still alive and alright. Veezara was on the border, apparently, and there was nothing more Babette or any skilled healer could do for him now. My siblings were just as wary of the Dragonborn and his companion as they were of my siblings.

"What happens now, that they've seen us and know who we are, Listener?" Uvelaes asked much later, once we had cleared an area enough to set up a small camp. Tawarthion and Uthgerd stood to one side, watching us carefully.  
I shook my head, standing up and brushing off dust and ashes from my battered armor. "Nothing. Nothing happens unless they decide to tell the Empire or the Stormcloaks about us and that we have survived."

Uthgerd looked shocked, Nazir was outraged. "Enough, no – they will leave here, now." I looked up at the Dragonborn. "You still have to save us all from the World-Eater, don't you, Dragonborn?"

The remaining members of my Family went silent –  _he_ was the Dragonborn I had spoken of? I smirked at the elf. "Now you know what I do for people, and how I 'get things done'. Anyway, you should go. Lisette is probably worried about you, and like I said, you need to save the world from Alduin. Never mind the fact that I'd probably lose to you if it ever came down to a fight," I threw him a tired grin.

The Altmer chuckled wryly, running his fingers through his long auburn hair and glanced around the cavern. "I don't suppose you can stay here, with all the damage it's taken."  
"Don't worry about us – there are a few tricks up our sleeves. Mine, especially," I replied, thinking of the Dawnstar Sanctuary. Very few – if any – of my siblings knew about its existence, and I preferred it that way.  
"Very well, then. We'll take our leave." Tar said, turning to a pack on the floor and hoisting it onto his shoulders. "But before I forget…. This is yours, Alysa," he pulled out a long red scarf I recognized as the one I has lost in somewhere on the way back from my trip to Dawnstar. "Thanks," I muttered automatically, taking the scarf from him. I could feel the incredulous eyes of my siblings on us. "If you ever need someone taken care of…  _discretely_ , you know who to talk to."  
He snorted. "I doubt that would ever happen, but I suppose it's a generous offer, anyway. Farewell, Alysa Ice-Wrath."

Uthgerd only narrowed her eyes, looking me over with a mild look of disgust before she followed the elf out. I felt my lips pull into a wry smile as I twisted my scarf in my hands.

_My Listener…._

I looked up, cocking my head towards the Night Mother's coffin.

_Astrid is still alive, within the Sanctuary, and you must speak with her._

So the pretender-bitch was still alive, then? She'll be praying that she died in the fire before long.


	36. Forgiveness Comes at a Price

**Chapter 35: Forgiveness Comes at a Price**

"Astrid is still alive."

Nazir, Babette, Aventus and Uvelaes gaped at me when I spoke, wrapping the scarf into a small ball and putting it on the ground next to Veezara's makeshift bed. "I need to find her and hear what she has to say for herself."  _It's because of her we're in this mess._

"Astrid? Still alive? By Sithis, I thought we'd lost her!" Nazir exclaimed. "Let's go find her, then!"

Babette hummed in response. She was less enthusiastic about finding Astrid.

Uvelaes and Aventus stayed behind with Veezara's still-unconscious body, and the other two followed me through the charred, blackened and smoking ruins of our home. I eventually made it to a gaping cavern I finally recognized as Astrid's old chambers, if I used a little imagination.

And there she was, Astrid, the leader of the last Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary still standing.

Burned, blackened, wheezing as she gingerly held onto life. I sneered even before I realized what I was doing, snarling at her. How dare she take away my only chance to show her the kind of pain she had inflicted upon me?! I stepped around the debris, kneeling by her side. Babette hovered in one corner, while Nazir muttered under his breath.

Astrid's bloody eyes found mine, and relief washed through them. I found my snarl turning into a growl, waiting to be freed from my throat. "A-ali-ive… you're al-live…. Thank Sithis." I was about to snap at her when her eyes fluttered closed, then opened again. "Ssshhhh… please. I – so much to say, and not – not much time…."

I looked away from her, trying to quell my desire to heal her just so I could burn her again. But I turned to glare at her again, anyway.

"I'm so sorry – very sorry! The agents, Maro, he said – said they'd leave us alone if we gave you over to him. I –  _we_  – were such fools…. All of this, everything – my fault. I nearly killed us all."  
"Damn right you did!" I hissed, unable to hold back any longer. Astrid squeezed her eyes shut, from pain or shame I didn't care. Nazir chided me quietly from one side, but he was probably still shocked about Astrid's confession. "This is what you and Seri were up to, isn't it? Even Seri had begged forgiveness before she died!"

A choked, dry sob wracked Astrid's body. "I just wanted things to stay the way they were! Be-before Cicero, the Night Mother…. You, as Listener…. I thought, thought I could save us by doing this but I was wrong!" she gasped, another sob running through her.

I felt angry tears of my own threaten to rise. "I still followed you, still believed in you, Astrid – didn't you see that? I only took things into my own hands when you tried to deny us our right to take our place in this world again!"  
"I d-didn't mean it like that, Alysa. I hadn't even st-stopped to think about anyth-thing. But you're still alive! There's a chance to sta-art over, rebuild –"  
"Rebuild? Start over? Ha! There is no Keeper, thanks to you, no documents left about  _anything_  the Keeper had brought with him, again thanks to you!" I shouted, standing. My heart was clenching painfully, and I was forcing every word out from behind a lump in my throat. "There's nothing left to rebuild with! It's like beginning a whole new Dark Brotherhood, because there's nothing left of this one!"  
"Alysa, calm down –"  
"No!" I whirled around to Babette. "I won't!" I shoved a finger in Astrid's direction. "She's the reason there's nothing left of anything! And here she lies, as if she is a Black Sacrament –"

"I  _am_  the Black Sacrament, I prayed to the Night Mother," Astrid interrupted. I turned back to her, horrified and furious and dying a little more inside.

The words died in my throat when hot tears spilled against my will –  _how can you defile our ways so, Astrid? What are you turning me into?_

"What-what I'm trying to s-say is, the Old Ways have always guided us…. You – Cicero, were right. To prove my… my sincerity…. Take my blade, the Blade of Woe, and l-lead the Fam-mily, as you were meant to."  
I glared at the beautiful ebony blade next to her. I knew she wanted me to kill her, both as a means to atone for what she had done, in the hopes it would help us move forwards, and to ease the pain of the burns.

I picked up the blade and gripped it tightly. I stared at Astrid. "I should just walk away and leave you here," I breathed. Nazir's head snapped up to look at me, and I heard Babette draw in a sharp breath. "Maybe then you'll understand what you've done to me."

I stepped closer to Astrid, and knelt next to her body. "But the Night Mother wants me to fulfil this last request of yours."

I drew the Blade of Woe, and drove it into Astrid's heart. She gasped quietly, then relief flooded her burnt face. "Th-hank-k you…."

I stood, angrily brushing away the lingering tears and wiping the blade on my tattered armor.

 

* * * * * * *

 

We stood there, around Astrid's body for a long time before Nazir finally broke the silence. "We should go back to the others."  
Babette nodded and followed the Redguard with her head bowed. I fell in behind her, stepping around Astrid's burnt corpse. Aventus and Uvelaes stood quickly when they saw us coming, their faces carefully moving from interested to blank when they saw Astrid wasn't with us. "Astrid is dead. She betrayed us and tried to make a deal with the Oculatus agents. You can see the results for yourself," I said. Uvelaes rubbed his face, trying to hide a scowl. Aventus looked shocked. "What happens now?" the Imperial asked, looking between all of us.  
"I suppose we go our separate ways. There's nothing left of the Dark Brotherhood now. Might as well call it quits while we live," Nazir spoke quietly, as if he didn't really want to say it.

 _You must keep them together, you_ must _speak with Amaund Motierre again, my Listener._

"We stay together," I interrupted the start of an argument about living quarters if we stayed together. "There is a Sanctuary in Dawnstar we will move to. It needs to be refurnished and fixed up rather urgently; it looks like it has been abandoned for several decades. Besides, the Night Mother has told me to speak to Amaund again. The contract is still on, the Emperor is not dead yet."

Uvelaes grinned almost immediately, turning to throw the last few things they had salvaged into canvas bags. "There's a Sanctuary in Dawnstar?" Babette asked. I nodded, refusing to look at her. "I see," she muttered.  
"We'll find a way to move the Night Mother, don't worry, Listener," Aventus said shyly.  
My lips twitched in reply. "I'll go buy a cart in Falkreath. We're going past Whiterun anyway, so I'll travel with you to there."

I'd walk into the city as I was – I had my daggers, Shadowmere would have my bow and quiver tied to his saddle.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Buying the cart was easy, ignoring the stares of the townsfolk when I walked in with my torn armor, dirty, bloody and bruised was…  _challenging_  to say the least. If I hadn't been so exhausted, I would probably have killed at least some. But the energy for that effort was beyond me. Uvelaes managed to summon Lucien after some effort, apparently, and the old Speaker waited with Shadowmere on the outskirts for me. Lucien actually seemed content to ride his old steed when I returned, driving the cart – interestingly, he still referred to the daedric stallion as a 'she'. He, she – Shadowmere was a daedric creature, and one I was grateful for. Without him, I would never have made it back to the Sanctuary in time.

Uvelaes and Aventus loaded the Night Mother and her coffin first, then carefully moved Veezara to the cart.

Then we went back in to bring out our dead, and bury them in the Falkreath Graveyard. Festus Krex, Gabriella, Arnbjorn, Astrid and even Lis (much to everyone's protest) were buried, their names crudely carved into the wooden posts we used as grave markers. I went in one last time, making my way to Cicero's old chambers. They were surprisingly intact – the Night Mother's side had taken much more damage when an underground lake had forced through the stone with all the explosions and heat from the fires. I took a small canvas bag, and packed all of Cicero's daggers and journals in it, pulling the drawstring tight and slinging it over my shoulder when I was done. None of the Keeping Tomes had survived – they were either completely soaked, the pages stuck together and the ink washed out, or burned in the fire.

Outside, Nazir was passing some bags on to Babette, who was standing on the cart and packing everything around Veezara carefully. Uvelaes, Lucien and Aventus were loading the two horses and Shadowmere with saddlebags, a few minor possessions and everything else we managed to salvage from the ruins of our Sanctuary. It really wasn't much, and we ended up taking food supplies from the remaining Penitus Oculatus wagons and turned those horses loose. Night had fallen a while ago, and we would have to make good time to be sure Babette would survive the journey. She  _had_  fed on the agents she had killed, but she was still a vampire.

Uvelaes took control of the cart, Nazir sitting next to him and touching his side every time the cart thudded over a particularly uneven part of the road. Aventus rode the white horse close to the carthorse, looking the most awake of us mortals. I rode the palomino, bringing up the rear with Lucien on Shadowmere. The old Speaker and Babette got along the best, even talking about another vampire they had both been acquainted with, called Vicente Valtieri, while the rest of us traveled in silence. We had far to go, so we went as fast as Uvelaes could push the cart – currently, a speedy canter.

I just hoped we would reach Riverwood and Whiterun soon, so I could finish this Emperor business once and for all. For the first time in my life, being an assassin was a tiresome thing. I wanted nothing more than peace to recover from all of this.

 

* * * * * * *

 

 _There was a Sanctuary under a house, and in a cave under the city, and then there was one next to a city, and another in a forest. It was safe, it was home. This he – we? I? – knew, believed, understood,_ needed _more than a walled, roofed house could give. There was family there, in this new home, a Mother, a Father, Speakers and one Listener and sometimes a Keeper. And finally, he-we-I became the Keeper. What an honor! And then, after so long, there was a Listener, powerful, gifted…. One to stand proud among the other Listeners from before. One the Mother had chosen, waited for, guided._

 _But there was so much cold, and we-he-I were too tired to move, to make warm…. Would I, he, feel that warmth ever again? Surely, for it isn't as cold as before…. I, he, felt warm, satisfied, if not content. The word 'content' means so little now._ Oh, if I see that fair maid Nelly, I'll plunge my knife into her belly _…. We always liked that one, but there was another one, someone else liked. Who that someone was, and what it was they liked, he, I, we, cannot remember. Yet, if ever. Ha, such a poet, such a bard._

 _That was something we,_ I, _told that someone! But surely, with all the tales of fires and fall-ins and betrayals, there was nothing left of that someone, something, anything. What a pity, everything was over. Everything we, he, I had worked for, was gone. There was only one place left for us, me, him, to stay. We would take our time to go there, yes, for there would be nothing there waiting for us. How sad, lonely again._

_Forever lost to solitude…. And certainly not the city._


	37. Surviving the Cold of Skyrim's Seas

**Chapter 36: Surviving the Cold of Skyrim's Seas**

It was a long journey to Riverwood – all of us, except for Lucien, Shadowmere, and Babette, were exhausted. We stopped at Embershard Mine at daybreak, thankful to find the place free of fellow men and mer. We set up a small camp once we maneuvered the cart and horses into the mine, with our vampire, ghost and daedra horse keeping watch as we slept. Babette woke us up at midday, saying it was important to move through Riverwood and reach Whiterun that evening. I felt like I had barely slept, and a quick glance at the others looking just as worse-for-wear made me sigh.  _We're probably the largest group still together to survive an attack like that,_  I thought blearily as we ate some of the bread we took from the agents.

"What is the passcode for the Dawnstar Sanctuary?" Nazir asked, pulling off a chunk of the bread.  
"'Innocence, my brother'," I replied. "It's quite far along the northern coast. Lucien will be able to tell you where it is."  
"You're not taking him with you?" Aventus asked, his head snapping up to look at me. I shook my head slowly.  
"It makes more sense for him to be with us, to guide us to the Sanctuary than to try and search for it," Uvelaes nodded.

"I  _am_  present, brothers and sisters," Lucien purred from his spot next to Shadowmere. I just smiled wearily at how dangerous the old Speaker sounded. "If you intend to make Whiterun by nightfall, you should leave now."

We packed up, quickly changing into less conspicuous armor or civilian clothes, and more or less threw things together or shoved them back in bags. "Wait – how will you manage the daylight, Babette? I know you said you had fed, but you've been inside the Sanctuary for so long," I asked, glancing at her from where I rolled up my bedroll.  
She grinned, baring her tiny fangs. "I'll be a bit sensitive to the light, yes. But it will be tolerable. Funny, the Dragonborn didn't seem to notice that I was a vampire at all…" she trailed, hopping onto the cart next to Veezara. "While we're in Whiterun, we might as well take him to the Temple of Kynareth. Apparently, there's a highly skilled resident healer called Danica Pure-Springs. It'll be better for him to stay there than travel all the way north with us."

We all agreed, and left the mine, arriving in Riverwood perhaps two hours later. We were easily the most interesting thing to happen to that village since it was built.

Not a single villager spoke as we passed: a Dunmer and an Imperial sitting on the bench of the cart, a little Breton girl sitting beside an unconscious Argonian in the back, with a large crate next to them. Then there was a Redguard on a white horse, me on the palomino, and a ghost smirking darkly at all the wary attention on a less-than-normal-looking black horse. I was close to laughing out of an exhausted hysteria.  _What a sight we are, looking like we're all about to drop dead, too._  I sighed heavily, closing my eyes and lifting my face to the sky. "Let's agree  _not_  to go adventuring in old ruins said to contain unique artifacts that are  _crawling_  with undead?" I spoke, startling some of the villagers and Aventus. Lucien chuckled darkly, and Babette had the good sense to look wide-eyed and afraid. "Yes, please!" she whispered fearfully, and suddenly the village sprang into action again, and only a few guards stopped to watch us suspiciously.

And then we were through Riverwood, on our way to the hold capital.

 

* * * * * * *

 

"Oh, dear Kynareth! What happened to him?!" Danica Pure-Springs exclaimed when we finally managed to get inside the city gates, convinced a guard to wake the priestess,  _and_  bring our Shadowscale up to her. Aventus, Nazir and I exchanged a quick glance – what do we say?  
"Well… he said something about bandits and Dwemer ruins and automatons before he passed out," Aventus offered quickly, looking nervous as he ran his fingers through his tangled brown hair. "We did what we could to heal him up, but we're worried about him, and –"  
"Leave him here with me and the other priestesses of Kynareth. We will do what we can to ensure he heals and will survive," Danica smiled warmly, motioning for the guard to lead us out of the temple. We walked out, and made our way to the Bannered Mare, where Uvelaes and Babette had bought rooms, food and drink for us.

"I'm going to talk to Amaund," I said as soon as we reached the table Babette and Uvelaes were sitting at, and headed for the counter where the innkeep stood, calling out to her waitresses and barmaids. "I'm looking for a man, a Breton. He's wealthy, may have a beard, dark hair, looks and sounds rather sneaky and has an Imperial soldier as a bodyguard with him all the time," I described Amaund quickly, based on what the Night Mother had shown me earlier. I placed a few coins on the table, and the woman pointed out the room at the far end of this floor. I nodded my thanks, and let myself into the room.

Amaund was grumpy and unkempt, compared to when we met the first time. "What is it? I asked  _not_  to be  _disturbed_!" he snapped, his oily voice making me want to shudder. His bodyguard stood up, drawing his sword.  
"Relax, Amaund. We've met before, in Volunruud, when you commissioned me to  _take care of_  a little problem of yours. This concerns that problem." I leaned against the doorframe, folding my arms over my chest as I looked squarely at the Elder Council member, completely unveiled for him to examine. His eyes grew wide as he realized who I was, motioning for his bodyguard to stand down. Amaund looked like he couldn't take in enough of what I looked like without the standard-issue uniform and covered from head-to-toe. I rolled my eyes and looked at the wall on my right, sniffing disdainfully while I waited for the Breton to come to his senses.

"You…  _you_  are the assassin I met in the barrow?!" he breathed, incredulous.  
"Yes, rather obviously. I wouldn't be here if that wasn't the case," I retorted, grumpy about, well,  _everything_  that had happened in the past couple months.  _I missed my twenty-ninth birthday in all the chaos,_  I suddenly realized, thinking back to when I had been so concerned about Astrid and Seri's random disappearance before I left to deal with the decoy-Emperor. I snorted softly, coming back to the present when Amaund mentioned hearing my entire Sanctuary had been wiped out.

"-one was left alive, yet here you are! How did you escape that?" he asked, then suddenly went pale when I met his gaze blankly. "Please, you must understand, I had  _nothing_  to do with that! I wanted the Emperor dead! The  _true_  Emperor! I –"  
"One of our own was responsible for the attack; whether or not you had anything to do with the decoy means little to me right now. But that is beside the point. I want to know where the  _real_  Titus Mede is."

Amaund gaped at me, his face slowly breaking into a delighted grin. "You mean… after all that has transpired… you, the Dark Brotherhood, will still honor and fulfil the contract?" I nodded, blinking just as the Breton grabbed my shoulders and shook me lightly. I scowled at him, too bewildered to do anything else. "Astounding news, oh, this is wonderful news!" he cackled gleefully as he let me go, turning away from me as he clapped his hands together and ran them over his face.

I was still scowling at him. "Where is he?" I pressed.  
Motierre turned back to me. "Still in Skyrim, but not for long. He is aboard his ship,  _The Katariah_ , moored just offshore in the Solitude Inlet. If you can get on board, and kill him, I will reveal the location of the dead drop, where your payment is."  
I dipped my head. " _The Katariah_ …. Fine. He shall be dealt with," I pushed off from the doorframe, unfolding my arms and reached for the handle when a comment from Amaund stopped me.  
"You know, I would never have suspected that the black-and-red clad assassin I met in Volunruud would look even remotely like you."

I turned to squint at him, entirely unsure of what he meant. Did I look too fragile, sickly? Too 'pretty' and 'child-like'? Those were all terms people had used at some stage or another to describe me, and the way his eyes roved over me once more made me suspect the latter. I heaved an exasperated sigh, shaking my head as I walked out and closed the door behind me.  _Insolent idiot. You might be the client for now, but that doesn't mean I won't kill you for fun later._

I decided to sit at the counter and stay away from my Family in case Amaund decided to come out and deduced our numbers from the companions I was with. I suppose I was being slightly paranoid, but considering that  _all_  of us were in the city together, with one seriously wounded brother, it wasn't too unreasonable. I closed my eyes and sighed, sipping my mead slowly. The inn was full, noisy – the bard was competing with a bar brawl, and I could see my siblings placing bets amongst themselves as to who would get knocked out first: one of the fighters, or the bard.

I watched the fight with little interest, and chuckled when the bard finally gave up and hit one of the fighters with his lute, which snapped. Both brawlers turned to punch the bard, and I could swear he wouldn't wake up until tomorrow this time. I smirked, amazed at one person's stupidity when a long, fine shape appeared next to me. I looked up to see Uvelaes sitting on the stool next to mine, leaning back against the counter, his elbows propping him up into a more comfortable position, some kind of alcohol in his tankard. As soon as he caught me looking at him, his eyes twinkled and he smiled coyly, leaning in to whisper in my ear. "We appreciate your discretion, Listener. I thought I would keep you company for a while."

He pulled away, that trademark, self-satisfied smirk all over his face that I wanted to carve off as much as I appreciated the fact that he had come to sit with me. I grinned back, shaking my head at him as I raised my tankard. He clinked his to mine, and I could almost hear the toast:  _To Family, and the Dark Brotherhood._  We drank deeply, and Uvelaes openly catcalled the guards who separated and manacled the two brawlers. I laughed, letting the moment carry me.

It was one of the best nights I'd had since my first trip to Dawnstar.

 

* * * * * * *

 

We ended up sharing two rooms between the lot of us, and sometime during the night Aventus had decided he would remain in Whiterun and keep an eye on Veezara. The others were headed north, and argued over which road to take from the previous evening to the entire morning, right up until we reached the city gates. We said our farewells to Aventus, wishing him well and left.

And the argument picked up again with the same fervor: through Labyrinthian, or around it?

Through would be faster, but far more dangerous.  
Around would be longer, but safer.

A cart would struggle to maneuver around the ruins.  
If one of the horses became lame for some or another reason, it would be hard work to walk up the mountain roads, nevermind pulling a  _cart_  with a heavy sarcophagus loaded on it.

There was always the chance that Lucien would be defeated if they passed through Labyrinthian, then there was no guide to the Sanctuary.  
He might be defeated on the road, too.

I rolled my eyes as they argued back and forth, their reasons for choosing one way instead of the other becoming more and more ridiculous as they got more and more emotional. "Just go around Labyrinthian. There's no reason to take an unnecessary risk just to arrive at the Sanctuary a little faster," I interrupted, finalizing the route for them.

Babette, Nazir and Uvelaes would take our things up, along with our Unholy Matron. Lucien actually looked completely bored by the proposition of going north with no-one to kill. He had been complaining from the moment we had woken up that he was restless, and his blade as well; that murdering a random stranger was a great idea because 'practice  _does_  make perfect' – really, he must have been insufferable in life if he could be so difficult in death. To make it worse, Uvelaes had nearly agreed to those demands.  _Nearly_.

Until he remembered that a cart laden with a sarcophagus didn't move quite as fast as a rider on a horse.

I, on the other hand, would ride hard for the  _Katariah_  in Solitude, and complete the contract. "A special brew I ordered from the alchemist yesterday. It was supposed to come with us, but since you'll be swimming in Skyrim's oceans, you'll need it more than us," Uvelaes said, handing me two potion bottles. "They are sixty-percent resist cold potions, and quite difficult to brew. Despite being a Nord, I'm sure this will be useful," he smirked coyly.  
"One day, you'll smirk at me like that and I'll make it  _permanent_ ," I glared at the Dark Elf, taking the bottles. The only reaction I got was a sly wink before he brought the horse and cart around.  
"Swim like a Slaughterfish, stab like an assassin," Nazir rumbled, laughing deeply when I rolled my eyes at him.  
"Look after yourselves on the way up, and may Sithis guide you," I flashed a smile at my companions.  
"And you, Alysa," Babette said, speaking uncharacteristically gently before hugging me briefly. "Let's go!" she called, hoping onto the back of the cart, pretending to ignore Nazir as he tacked up the white horse and teased her, and Uvelaes drove the cart out of the stableyard. Lucien had opted to sitting next to Babette, looking stiff and uncomfortable.

I touched Shadowmere's cheek, and looked at him with a smirk. "Ready?"  
_Whenever you are, Listener_ , he said, his voices resounding calmly in my head. I tucked the bottles into a saddlebag, mounted, and we took off for Solitude.

Hopefully for the last time on this contract.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Shadowmere and I were on the eastern side of the Solitude Inlet about two hours before dusk, roughly a week-and-some later, watching the docks and the grandest ship moored just offshore – the  _Katariah_ , the stage for my final act. It was a little north of where I sat on Shadowmere, just on the other side of the Blue Palace. We were directly across from the East Empire Company docks.

 _Listener,_  Shadowmere interrupted my thoughts.  _I believe Commander Maro is on the docks. What would you like to do?_

I was tempted to take him out here and now – but if I failed, I stood the chance of losing the Emperor, my true target. "We'll come back for him as soon as we're done with the Emperor," I breathed, pushing my hands up the stallion's neck and letting him carry me a little further north to my ship.

We stopped at the northernmost edge of what could still be called land before the little islands of soil stretched out to the east and north, and the ice floated on the water. I ground my teeth: the only way onto the ship was by rowboat, which screamed 'assassin coming', or swimming, which I wasn't particularly keen on.  _Just because I'm a Nord doesn't mean I don't get cold,_  I grumbled to myself, dismounting and making sure my daggers were fitted in their sheathes, and their sheathes securely strapped to my belt, which was securely tied to me. I took out one of the potion bottles, surprised at how light it was. I snarled at the unsealed cork – we had been travelling too quickly to notice the precious liquid was leaking. Shadowmere's ears flicked to me, then he sighed. I rolled my eyes and pulled out the other one, thankfully unscathed. I uncorked it and drank the bitter potion as quickly as I could, sputtering once I finished it.

Shadowmere huffed a couple times, a sound I came to recognize as laughter. I shoved the bottle into the saddlebag. "Here goes nothing," I muttered, running for the water and diving in as soon as it was deep enough to swim in.

It was still  _freezing_.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I swam around to the anchor, and started pulling myself up the rope and into the lower hold of the ship. It looked mostly like storerooms, with crates and barrels and provisions. My feet barely touched the boards when a sailor walked past, oblivious to my presence, and into another room. I crouched down, hiding behind several stacked crates while I scanned the area.  _Stairs going up. Spectacular,_  I noted, quickly grabbing a loose piece of cloth and wiping off excess water from my leather. My cowl was soaked through, though. I'd have to deal with the cold. I checked the room for occupants once more, then moved across the shadowy storeroom to the stairs. It was relatively quiet, with the faint sound of a group of sailors or soldiers having dinner, and the sound of someone working a grindstone – possibly behind a closed door, possibly on the floor above. I glanced around the corner and as far up the stairs as I could, straightening to my full height.  _Seems clear, at least two rooms._  I padded up the stairs, sticking to the right side, listening for every noise, looking for every movement. I crouched low once I reached the top. There was another open – but definitely empty – door in front of me, where some beds and dressers stood. Then there was a room on either side of the hallway, both it seemed, with open doors.

 _Good thing I've been wearing the Nightweaver's Band almost since I got it_ , I thought absently, marveling at how much easier it was to move silently with such a slight improvement in the skill. Festus had been a gifted enchanter and mage. I shook my head: I needed to focus on the  _now_. The time to mourn would come later. I swept past the open rooms before the occupants – if any – knew I was there, and I pressed my back to the wall at the end, peering around the corner. The corridor was staggered, apparently, and when the grindstone stopped screeching against metal for a few seconds I could clearly hear voices coming from the passage I needed to follow.  _Dining hall, probably._  It was too loud to be anything else. I snuck further down, stopping before the open archway, the fingers of my right hand touching the floor below to steady me. About three sailors and one – that I could see – Oculatus agent was inside.

 _What to do, what to do…_  I looked around the wide corridor I was in. There was nowhere to hide, and this was the end of the line. My way further lay on the other side of the dining hall full of enemies. I rolled my eyes.  _Typical._ I threw a glance back into the room. Causing a ruckus and attacking would alert other agents and sailors, staying here would  _also_  alert other sailors and soldiers. I pushed back against the wall, sliding up to stand. One of the men decided to call it quits, explaining something over the – surprisingly loud and boisterous – disappointed calls of his fellows. My lips twitched: they were just a little  _drunk_. I waited against the wall for the first one to come by so I could cut his throat.

Now imagine my glee when it was the agent that made the mistake of leaving the room first. I pursed my lips and pulled faces as I tried to keep the heavy-armor-dead-weight from dropping to the floor with a bang. I let out a silent breath when I succeeded, unsheathing his Imperial sword.

_Three sailors; two well-aimed daggers and a quick dispatch, then I can move on!_

And it really had been that simple. I encountered very little resistance as I kept moving up, closer and closer to the Emperor's chambers.


	38. The Last Supper

**Chapter 37: The Last Supper**

There was a warm fire burning in the Emperor's chambers, and by the looks of it, was magically induced. As of yet, there was no-one inside, but talk between two agents I passed suggested my prey was dining with his ship's captain on the deck. He'd be back soon. I took the opportunity to dry myself completely, and explore what I supposed was an office, then an adjoining bedroom and washroom.  _Lavish_ , I commented dryly, peering in the cupboards and perusing the shelves and display cases.

A particular katana caught my eye – simply, because it seemed to be made of pure gold. I leaned closer to the case, examining it closely. I could  _swear_  on the Night Mother's body that this was Goldbrand, a daedric artifact given to a worshipper and Champion of Boethiah. "Well, bless my black little soul…. A daedra-worshipping Emperor. That's a first, I think." I straightened, and settled for perching on a dresser hidden from sight by a dividing wall in the office. I pulled up my now-dry hood and cowl, and settled for waiting. I only hoped I wasn't about to be the one who was ambushed. While it certainly  _would_  be interesting, it didn't suit my plans tonight.

I had just taken out one of my daggers to examine and play with when the door opened and closed, and the room was filled with a distinctly different sound as I held my breath. The soft rustle of expensive fabrics, the soft 'clack' of wood-on-wood heeled shoes quickly dampened to soft, almost inaudible sounds on a plush, thick carpet. Then the emperor stopped at his desk, his back to me and his door, and put his hands on the desk.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "And, once again, I have proved that Commander Maro is a fool. I told him, no-one can stop the Dark Brotherhood. No-one ever could, nor will they ever." He chuckled again, and moved to sit at his desk. "Come now, don't be shy, Assassin. Come out from wherever you are – you did not come all this way to gawk at me, and I can assure you we are very much  _alone_ ," he sunk into his chair slowly, his sharp gaze finding me on the dresser, a daedric dagger in my right hand, my index finger resting on the very tip of the blade.

I sheathed the dagger, and scooted closer to the edge of the dresser, surprised he wasn't calling out to his guards. I raised a brow, my lips twitching into an incredulous smile before I fully met his brown-green eyes. "You were  _expecting_  me?"  
Titus made a disapproving sound in his throat. "But of course! You, and I, have a date with destiny. But so it always is, with emperors and assassins, wouldn't you agree?"  
I nodded. "I suppose that is true."  
"You know it is, Assassin," he leaned back in his chair, resting his elbows on the arms and weaving his fingers together. "Yes, I must die. And you must deliver the final blow. That is how it simply is. I see you look confused."

I smoothed my brow as I stood up. "Yes, I am confused. Of all the emotions I had expected, of all the scenarios I considered, not one included you being so calm, so…" I struggled to find the right word.  
"Resigned to my fate?"  
I nodded. "Yes. I didn't expect you would be alone, either. At least, not for very long." This felt strange – I was having a conversation with my target, my prey. But this one, I will confess, fascinated me.  
"Yes, I thought similarly to you about my impending death – perhaps there could have been a way to cheat it. But now that the moment is here, I do not see why I should not face it, instead of putting off the inevitable over and over again. I will not go to my grave whimpering like an infant." Titus was self-assured, and within these few seconds a man whose name I had never really cared to learn had my respect. He reminded me a little of the Dragonborn.

I smiled under my cowl at the thought, my gaze flitting over the objects in the room. When I looked back at Titus, his sharp eyes immediately caught mine. "I was wondering, Assassin, if you would suffer an old man a few more words before the deed is done?"  
I was curious – what more could he ask, or say? "Very well. I'm listening," I replied evenly, walking closer to the desk.

Titus dipped his head. "I thank you for your courtesy. You will kill me, and I have accepted that fate, and will not try to change your mind on the matter. But, regardless of your path through life, I sense in you a certain  _ambition_. So I ask of you a favor; just an old man's dying wish," he paused, gauging my reaction. I nodded – would he ask me to tell him who had asked the Night Mother for his death, or would he ask me to kill Amaund? "While there are many who would see me dead, Assassin, there is one who set the machine in motion, who threw caution to the wind and risked their life for this task, had they failed and been discovered before now. This person, whomever he or she may be,  _must_  be punished for their treachery. Once you have been rewarded for my assassination, I want you to kill the very person who ordered it. Would you do me this kindness, Assassin?"

 _Ah, kill Amaund. Interesting._  "If I killed every client at the request of a target, I would soon be out of business."  
He laughed wryly. "Ah, yes of course. There is that as well. I thank you for your courtesy of hearing me out, regardless of what you decide to do in the end."  
"I'll think your request over."

As I stood there, across from my target, I was struck with a sudden whim.

I pulled off my hood and cowl. "I am Alysa Ice-Wrath, Listener of the Dark Brotherhood."  
"Alysa…. Well, I certainly didn't expect an assassin to  _introduce_  herself," he laughed.  
I rolled my eyes, half smiled. "You've gained my respect in this short time. I will not forget you, Titus Mede the Second." I felt strangely detached and yet involved with my target. I really  _would_  remember him for the rest of my life, and not just because of what his assassination meant to my Family. He seemed content to watch me as I gathered what I needed – namely, two large bowls to collect his blood.

While my initial plans had included speedy slashes with hopes of catching a handful of bloody material to leave my mark  _specifically_  in his blood, I now had the chance to do what I wanted in relative peace. He didn't object once, or comment on what I was doing, and only drew in a sharp, surprised breath when I sliced through the veins and arteries in his wrists, letting them hang over the dishes.  
"This is comparatively 'clean', when the other assassinations by your order are taken into account," the emperor finally commented, looking at the deep crimson liquid flowing out of him with detached interest.  
I frowned. All of my kills  _were_  typically bloody – he just wouldn't see the results of this one. "At Vici's wedding I left a waterskin of pig's blood and my handprint in blood behind. Gaius Maro…" I couldn't help the grin that escaped. "Well, that was –"  
"That letter found in his possessions, it was forged, correct?"  
"Yes. He was Imperial through-and-through."

Titus chuckled. Apparently he found the situation far more amusing than I had expected myself to find it. "And, did you find out who the Gourmet really was? I never did manage to meet the man – or woman – behind the fame."  
"I did. His name was Balagog gro-Nolob. He was an Orc," I replied, wondering if someone had found his corpse yet.  _I'll have to go find out some time._  
"An Orc, you say? Well, I would never have guessed  _that_ , either."

We lapsed into silence for a while, and I was beginning to see the effect of the blood loss on him – Titus was pale, his eyes were unfocused when they were open, his breathing sometimes even, sometimes ragged, but always shallow. "Would you bring me the golden katana, in the display case there? I'd like to see it once more. Oh, and it's locke– Well, never mind then," he finished. I was already tucking my lockpicks away, and lifting the glass.  
"Is this Goldbrand?" I asked, laying the blade down in his open palms and leaned against the desk. My eyes flitted down to his blood on the floor – he wouldn't be awake for much longer.  
"Yes, indeed it is," he managed a weary smile, his eyes running over the length of the sword.  
"So you  _are_ a follower of Boethiah, like the rumors suggest. Why keep quiet about it? You're the 'Emperor of Tamriel'."

Titus barked out, laughing. "I'd have a rebellion on my hands."  
"I can see it turning a few heads, but not a whole  _rebellion_ ," I argued. What difference did aedra or daedra really make?  
"The entire Septim bloodline was associated with not only the Aedra, but with a specific Divine – Akatosh. Centuries of emperors associated with 'good', and suddenly a daedra-worshipping warlord's son is emperor? Ha!" he laughed, his face suddenly contorting as blood spurted weakly from his wrists, and then his features smoothed out, his eyes closing as if he was sleeping.  _Oh, that sort of makes sense. Like befriending someone, then telling them you're an assassin for the Dark Brotherhood. I think._

"Sithis take you to the Void," I murmured, replacing one of the dishes with a random chalice. I held up the red-black blood, so close to coagulating…. With my gloves on, I stirred the crimson liquid a little, then climbed onto the shelves behind the dead emperor, the bowl beside me. I placed my palm flat on the surface of the precious liquid, and pressed it against the glass, watching in satisfaction as the blood trickled down the window from under my hand. Then I used the blood as ink, carefully writing out my messages on the glass, grinning all the while. There was a door to the right of the window, which opened easily with a key I found in the desk drawer. It led to a narrow balcony, with the Solitude Inlet below it.

I glanced back at my kill, his hands gently wrapped around Boethiah's artifact, his chin against his chest as if sleeping.

Were it not for the bowl of blood next to him on the desk  _and_  on the floor, and the bloody hand print above and behind him. And my text. And the fact that he wasn't breathing – especially that.  _Ah, the Black Horse Courier will have a field day with this, assuming it manages to leak,_  I thought smugly.

Then I walked onto the private little balcony, mourning for the resist cold potion I  _should_  have had with me, climbed onto the railing, and jumped off into the freezing cold oceans. I crossed my arms and forced my legs together just in time, and the water pulled me in deep with the height of my fall. I swam up, desperate to be out of the cold and wet. I gasped in the frigid air of Skyrim, my lungs burning against the frigid air, and powered my way back to the eastern shore where Shadowmere was waiting.

_Sweet Sithis, it's freezing!_

 

* * * * * * *

 

My teeth were chattering when I finally reached the shore, shivering and shuddering from the icy waters. I needed to change out of my soaked armor into something dry – but my fingers wouldn't work so well. I swore, finally managing to extract my robes and warm furs from my pack. Shadowmere stood close by, offering me what warmth he could.

I folded my armor haphazardly once I was dressed in the wools and furs of my Dark Robes, and stuffed the armor into a bag of its own, pulling a cape tightly around me as I jumped up and down.  _Commander Maro just left the docks, my Listener. He will soon come across the Emperor's body. You cannot exact your revenge at the moment. Besides, we must leave this place for shelter, or you will surely die, Listener. I cannot allow that._  I nodded, and eventually made it onto Shadowmere, and as soon as I was settled into his saddle, he bolted. I burrowed my fingers into his thick, black mane, and wishing there was a way to stop the wind from being so cold.

 

* * * * * * *

 

He took me to a little shack, where a large, disheveled dog stood guard at the door. He barked excitedly, wagging his tail and leading the way in when I dismounted, still shivering from the cold. I immediately headed for the fireplace, and coaxed the blaze to life with difficulty. It was only then that I saw the dog's master lying dead on the bed, and judging by the awkward way in which he lay, it was probably Rockjoint. Shadowmere managed to squeeze into the little shack with me, and I fumbled over the buckles on the back of his saddle, trying to get my bedroll so I could lay it down on the furs in front of the fire.

I was beginning to feel a little warmer, and as soon as I burrowed into my bedroll, sleep took me.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I sneezed violently as soon as I was inside Whiterun city.  _I think I am sick_ , I thought dejectedly, wiping my nose on a piece of cloth I had torn that was serving as a handkerchief.  _Of all the things that could happen to me, why this, and why now?_  I complained. The weather had been awful on the ride here: windy, overcast, threatening to rain…. Cold and miserable. Just how I felt. I stopped by the alchemist for a cure illness potion, and was barely out the door before I started drinking it. There was a large box with a sign 'Deposit Empty Potions and Poisons Bottles Here!' just outside the shop, and I tossed the bottle inside. I was already feeling better, but I wasn't quite over it yet. I sighed, walking up to the Temple of Kynareth to check on Veezara and Aventus. Amaund could wait for a bit longer. I needed to know how my Shadowscale and little brother were doing.

I looked up at the branches of the Gildergreen when I heard Aventus arguing with a priestess. I stopped walking, frowning in their direction just in time to see her throw her hands in the air, furious and walking away while Aventus…. Well, he looked panicked, running his hands through his hair, closing his eyes and clenching his jaw. I strode over. "What happened?" I demanded, staring at my sibling as he paled slightly.  
"They lost Veezara. I mean," he corrected quickly, his cheeks coloring. "He was getting better, he was even awake about a day after everyone left, and just about four days ago he was up and walking and doing quite well…" he trailed, looking sheepish and worried. "He must have sneaked out of the temple and the city somehow, because the other horse – our palomino – is, was –"  
"Stolen," I finished in unison with Aventus. "Yes, I saw, and questioned  _everyone_  at the yard. They say it looked like a mirage got on the horse and rode it out along the road. Which one, differs by too many accounts."  
"Where could he have gone? He's not well enough to travel alone. And he remembers everything that happened, right up to where –" Aventus dropped his voice, leaning closer to me, "– the  _Dragonborn_  was healing him."

I clenched my jaw – there was only one place he would go. "I have other business to deal with right now. But he will probably be at Ark-ang-tham-az…." I struggled with the Dwemer word.  
"Arkngthamz?" Aventus questioned, looking confused. "The Dwemer ruin? Why would he be there?"  
I wanted to skin him for being able to say that. "Yes. The Dwemer ruin; the one he's been visiting so often. Ask around about it – all I know is, it's close to Markarth and somewhere in the mountains."

I turned away from him as he nodded, murmuring something about asking the Companions.  _They would be the best bet,_  I admitted, stalking into the Bannered Mare and spotting my client in the busy common room at a secluded table with his bodyguard, having lunch. And I slipped onto a stool at the counter, pretending to scan through a hastily scribbled menu as I watched an Oculatus agent gave him a letter, looking solemn. Motierre tore open the seal, his eyes scanning over the words quickly. I could swear his eyes gleamed with delight for a few seconds, then he folded the letter, looking concerned and grieved as he thanked the agent for his trouble.

I waited until the agent left, then abandoned the menu, pushing my way through the people and sat down at the empty chair at my client's table. "The deed is done," I said, smirking darkly at the Breton.  
His eyes shone. "I know, I know! I just received the news!" he exclaimed quietly, barely able to contain himself. He tapped the letter with his fingers. "This, this is truly glorious, my friend! You may not realize this for a while to come, but you have served the Empire – nay, all of Tamriel! – in ways you cannot  _possibly_  begin to imagine!" he laughed, initially undeterred by my relatively blank expressions. I wasn't his  _friend_ , nor did I care for politics too much. Unless it involved my Family.

But he quickly misinterpreted my gaze, and became slightly nervous again. "Ah, but you probably don't care about politics, yes? You want what is due – money. It's at a dead drop, as I mentioned before, in an urn in the very chamber of Volunruud where we met. Now, please go, and collect your payment. Let us  _never_  look upon one another again," he drew back, looking at me warily despite the excitement that his plan had succeeded was shining in his eyes.  
I nodded. "Of course. It truly was a  _pleasure_  doing business with you."

I barely managed to smirk at him when the inn door was thrown open, slamming against the wall, silencing the inn. I half-rose from the chair, my daggers halfway out of their sheathes. It was a breathless, excited courier. "Breaking news! The Emperor of Tamriel, Emperor Titus Mede the Second, has been assassinated by what is believed to be a Dark Brotherhood assassin, aboard his own ship! Read all about it in this copy of the Black Horse Courier! A bloody handprint, a macabre message in blood – the  _Emperor's_  own blood – saying 'We reign eternal. Hail Sithis and the Night Mother', and another, more cryptic one, 'He asked a favor of me'!" he called, gasping for breath. I sheathed my blades, turning to Amaund with a dark, sly smirk. "And!" the courier continued, "has it been confirmed once and for all that the late emperor truly was a daedra worshipper? Read all about it in this copy of the Black Horse Courier!" he held a copy high.

No-one breathed for a few seconds.

Then the inn exploded into action, everyone needing a copy of the Courier to find out what happened first. I giggled darkly, drawing my finger over my neck as I whispered to him, "Not today, Amaund Motierre, but maybe one day," wiggling my fingers in a goodbye to a wide-eyed Amaund – the last message certainly wasn't lost on him. Apparently the letter he had received didn't include this information. How it managed to get to the Courier, I didn't know. Didn't really care – but we were back in business, and business would probably be booming soon. And a few hopefuls looking for their piece of fame.

I stood, weaving through the mass of bodies pressing against one another for a copy of the article, finally managing to secure a copy from another courier outside for a hefty twenty septims - they were usually only about ten. On the very top, just under the main heading of 'Emperor Assassinated by Dark Brotherhood', was a quick sketch of the emperor just as I had left him – handprint, messages, and Goldbrand in his hands at his desk.

I felt proud to have accomplished this, claiming an entire edition of the Courier for my Family. I scanned the article quickly, highly sensationalized and emotive, walking out to the stables when a guard stopped me. "I know who you are. Hail Sithis," he spoke quietly, staring at me from behind the full-face helmet. I narrowed my eyes at him, carefully folding the Courier. "I was told to tell you that it is important for you to return home immediately, concerning a scaly deal in the extended family."

And just like that he left. Aventus found me not long after, as breathless and excited as the courier in the inn had been when he waved the page at me, babbling about the kill. "Do you have anything you need to pack to take with you?" I interrupted.  
He frowned, put out. "Well, I just need to fetch my pack from the inn, and the last of Veezara's things from the temple, why –"  
"Then do it, now. We need to get to Dawnstar as quickly as possible."

My brother still wanted to argue about leaving for the Dwemer ruin after Veezara, but I cut across him, simply saying Dawnstar would be our best bet.

The message the guard had given me had something to do with Veezara…. It was important.


	39. On Avenging the Fallen (II)

**Chapter 38: On Avenging the Fallen (II)**

Aventus was sick so often on the way to Volunruud I almost wished I'd paid his travel fees to take a cart to Dawnstar. He struggled to keep up with Shadowmere's speed, holding me in an iron maiden of muscle. Even the daedric horse complained quietly in my head when we stopped just short of the ruin, Aventus falling off and tripping over his feet in his haste to get away from the horse and spill his guts.  _He grips too tightly with his knees,_  Shadowmere muttered, his red eyes glowing dimly as we stood there. "Volunruud isn't much further. Both of you stay here, I'll be back soon," I decided, running for the ruin. Shadowmere let out a long groan that tried to disguise as a sneeze.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I flew down the stairs on Volunruud, dodging the bodies on the stairs and flung myself into the room I had met Motierre in, my hand letting go of the doorframe as I jogged to the only urn in the room, breathing deeply as I lifted the lid, grabbing the large canvas bag and heaving it out. I huffed from the effort, already panting from the run. Shadowmere would have to come to me. Thankfully the bag had straps like a rucksack, and I hoisted it onto my back. "Unholy Matron, this is heavy!" I groaned, and trudged back up the way I had come. Babette always complained she wasn't made for manual labor… I now  _knew_  it was true for me. I had spent far too much time sneaking and stabbing to do this easily.

I finally made it outside the ruin, Aventus beside Shadowmere as they approached. "Feeling better?" I asked, sarcastic.  
Aventus brushed it off, nodding and taking the sack from me. "Woah! That's really heavy…" he gasped, carrying it to my steed. We balanced the bag on the stallion's back, tying it onto the saddle and shifting some of the other things we had. Our extra set of clothes and bedrolls took up the most space, aside from my daedric bow and quiver, which hung from a hook on the pommel of the saddle, against Shadowmere's shoulder. Finally there were the saddlebags with our provisions – mostly breads, some cheese, rarely dried meats. All of this added up to the difficulties of traveling together on one horse, and Aventus' intolerance for the stallion's speed made for many stops. Now there was this heavy bag of gold on the stallion as well. I sighed.

At least we were currently at Volunruud. Dawnstar wasn't much further way.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I cut across the country at Shadowmere's suggestion, letting him take the lead across the snowy hills and through the mountain passes. We raced through Fort Dunstad, following the road for a while before Shadowmere veered off, his strides lengthening across the snow and up the plateau above the village of Dawnstar.  _Hold capital,_  I corrected myself, but it wasn't much bigger than Riverwood in actuality. We approached a foreboding, dilapidated fort-like temple – or temple-like fort – as the sun began to set, staining the white snow around us a dark orange. I heard Aventus mutter something to himself, and I hoped that he'd keep himself together for long enough to reach the Sanctuary. I didn't like the look of the crumbling building, and I  _really_  didn't want to stop here, at this hour. It gave off a sense of terror, a feeling I particularly hated.

" _Shadowmere!_ " I hissed, throwing my weight back just in time as my stomach lurched; Aventus swore loudly – I could almost swear he screamed. The stallion had reached a steep slope down, and hadn't checked his speed before racing down, sliding through the thick snow all the way to the bottom.  _Apologies, Listener. I hadn't realized the edge was so near._  He sounded amused, almost sarcastic, actually. I scowled at his mane as he pushed out of the snow, cantering easily along the coast to the west, slowing to a walk when we reached the Black Door. I didn't even bother to look when I felt my brother throw himself off the daedric horse again.

We were finally home. I dismounted, untying everything from the saddle and dumping it next to the Door, slinging my bow and quiver over my shoulders, and tucked the bedrolls under my arm. "Bring the gold in, won't you?" I patted the canvas still resting on the stallion's back. I grabbed the almost-empty saddlebags with my free hand, and passed it to the other when I reached the Door, Aventus just behind me. "Innocence, my brother," I said to the Door, and it hissed open, letting us in as the sun sank into the sea.

"Wow," Aventus breathed behind me as we walked down the stairs, coming to a small entrance room glowing orange in the firelight, with another suit of Cicero's motley still lying on the table to the left of the room, just as I had found it the first time I came in. I lifted my chin, my eyes flitting to cobwebbed wall sconce. We passed through the archway, and into what would become the main hall. The cavern was vast, and colored in cold, blue shades, with only a few scattered torches. The ice caverns were visible from here, too. The stairs leading to the ground were a little to the left, the spikes raised to prevent immediate access to the inner areas of the Sanctuary. I supposed the Night Mother's coffin was somewhere deep inside. Looking closer at the area below us, I could see most of my Family's possessions scattered around the cart-converted-table-and-benches.

I sighed, trudging to the stairs. Lucien appeared from a corridor. "My Listener, I thought I heard someone enter…" he glanced at Aventus with what looked like a disapproving glare from under his hood. He pulled the chain, lowering the pikes and allowed us through. "Follow me, there is something you  _must_  attend to immediately."  
"Something to do with Veezara?" I dumped my luggage next to the rest of our things, and Aventus was only too happy to set the gold down.  
"Yes, and no. Come."

I rolled my eyes. "Were you always this difficult, Lucien?"  
"You ask vague questions, my Listener," he purred. I stalked after him into the corridor, all the way down the painfully familiar passage.  _Did they find Cicero here?_  I wondered, coming to a halt when I saw my Family crowded together on one side, staring incredulously at something or someone. "Listener," Uvelaes greeted, standing when he saw me.  
"Evening," I nodded at everyone, then turned to look at what they were staring at.

Even I was left breathless and speechless for a while.

Standing up and turning to face me, pulling back her black and deep green hood and cowl was a dark purple and black Argonian. She shook out her head a little, the richly colored feathers on her head standing slightly before settling again. Her dark horns rose backwards, curving down and to the front. She wore amethyst- and ruby-studded ebony rings, from which hung a piece of – what I assumed was – black silk, on her horns, too, something I had heard was typical among Argonians. "So you are the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, the one I have heard so much of from Veezara? Listener Alysa Ice-Wrath?" her voice was strongly accented, her 'r's and 's's long and reptilian.

I gaped for a few seconds before I managed to nod. "Yes, you are the other Shadowscale he found?"  
"I am indeed. My name is Shantanalz," she dipped her head in greeting, her vibrant green eyes closing for a second before they were on me again. "I came to Skyrim looking for a remaining chapter of the Dark Brotherhood several years ago. I did not find any. So I set up camp inside Arkngthamz, though at the time I did not know it was unstable and plagued with earth tremors. But that is beside the point. I followed a few leads around the cities to a few outstanding contracts, when I came across a fellow Shadowscale hunting the same prey. We spent some time together, completing the contract together, after which I left. I heard a short while later that Vittoria Vici had been assassinated at her own wedding, by what was presumed to be a Dark Brotherhood assassin.

"Some time later, my path crossed with Veezara's again. He mentioned an interest in Dwemer ruins, and I mentioned living in Arkngthamz. It would be several months before he sought me out within the ruin. That would be when  _you_ , Listener Alysa, found out about Arkngthamz."

I frowned slightly – Veezara wasn't here. I glanced at my Family members – they looked as surprised as I felt: she hadn't told them her story until now. "I see. Where  _is_  Veezara? Did he go looking for you recently?"  
Shantanalz nodded. "He arrived in Arkngthamz just over two weeks ago. I was close to the entrance, so I saw him coming. He was not well enough to travel the distance at the speed he traveled. I did what I could, but it was not enough." She stopped, her expression going carefully blank. "I laid him to rest deep within the ruins. Perhaps, one day after you have settled into this Sanctuary a little more, I could take you to his tomb?"

It was as if the very stones lost their breath at that. Veezara…  _dead_? Impossible…. I frowned, shaking my head.  _This place brings only death,_  the thought came, unbidden. "I would like to pay my last respects to him, Shantanalz. Thank you."

We were silent for a time, and eventually Aventus broke it when he suggested we prepare for the evening. We murmured our agreement, standing and making our way to the main room. It would be cold tonight, so close to the caverns. Quiet, without the noise of an inn, or Festus there to argue with Nazir over food.

We moved around the room, sorting and organizing everything. Tankards, cups and bowls would serve for drinks; plates and whatever else was flat would serve for the food. We laid out the bedrolls to one side, close together and away from the cold air sweeping in from the ice caverns. Everyone saw the rucksack full of the spoils for killing the Emperor – but no-one really had the heart to discuss any of that. Even Lucien seemed to agree that his usually morbid and ill-timed humor would earn him a return ticket to the Void, so he wandered throughout the halls and corridors, his ghostly shimmer oddly comforting to all of us.

Nazir had been the one to take up the cooking, and once we all sat down around our makeshift table, he spoke quietly. "I wish that old bastard Festus was here. His food was actually brilliant. I'll miss that."

Babette stood up, grabbing Aventus' tankard and raising it. "To Family. To the ones we've lost, who have died and found their ways to Sithis. To the ones we've gained along the way, and the ones that will surely come to our open arms. To the hardships and destruction of the past, and the things we've learnt from it. To the uncertainty of the future, now dark and bleak but surely so bright and alive once the eclipse has passed. To Family, to the Dark Brotherhood, to the Shadowscales, to our Dread Father and our Unholy Matron."

We stood, raising our tankards, bowls and cups high. "To Family," we chorused, and it was as if a weight had been lifted from all of us.

The grief was still there, we had lost too many over such a short time to  _not_  grieve, but it felt as if things would righten the world again, soon. Never again would it be the same as it once was, but maybe that was a good thing. We could grow from this, we could learn. Get better, stronger.

We are the Dark Brotherhood.

 

* * * * * * *

 

" _Madness is merry, and merriment's might, when the Jester comes calling with his knife in the night…._ " The man stopped with a gasp, his cut-but-growing red hair flying into his face. There was nothing left of the  _door_ , and oil barrels stood littered outside, Penitus Oculatus agents strewn across the forest floor, all around the  _door_. The tree right next to it…. Oh, now that was a bloody awful sight, crimson red where someone had been held up and bleeding, and the tree also bled – thick, blood-blood-red sap coagulating, calling insects closer. The man touched the dagger by his side, stepping closer to the entrance of that  _place_. There was nothing left…. He turned away, back to the Great Cemetery of Falkreath, wandering through the graves until he found six fresh – well, relatively fresh – graves, each marked with a plain wooden cross, and their names carved into the wood with care.

_Gabriella, Liz, Astrid, Seri, Arnbjorn, Festus Krex._

He felt… sad, especially when he saw the last name. Did he know these people, did they know him? "Of course they did, silly! They were  _family_ , remember?" he muttered to himself, suddenly remembering. How could he have forgotten that? "They would have moved house by now…."

"You there!" a deep voice snarled. The red-haired man turned around, and saw a Penitus Oculatus agent striding closer, looking furious. "You, do you know about the Black Door, the Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary that was destroyed several weeks ago?"  
"I know a great many black doors and sanctuaries. Or, I did, but I really can't remember, silly me. Are you Commander Maro of the Penitus Oculatus?"  
"Yes, I am. Now answer me: what do you know about that Sanctuary?!"

The red-haired man looked up to his left, his index finger and thumb stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Well… all I can really remember is this one, tiny little detail, but I'll have to tell you very quietly – can't have other people hear about it, you know."

Commander Maro sneered at the red-haired man, at his disheveled worker's clothes, his unevenly hacked, jaw-length hair. They were alone in the cemetery, so why the man worried about someone eavesdropping was beyond him. But Commander Maro stepped closer anyway, and so did the other man, until they were almost nose-to-nose. "Well, out with your secret, little man."  
The red-haired man leaned closer, whispering in Commander Maro's ear, "They want you dead, and so do I. Hail Sithis and the Night Mother!"

Commander Maro sucked in a breath, confused by the sudden pain in his stomach. He glared at the man – the  _assassin_  – and down at himself. An ebony dagger was sheathed to the hilt inside him, warm blood leaking out between the blade and his flesh. His hands reached up to the wound on their own.

And the red-haired man did something strange: he giggled. And then he laughed. "Oh, ooh! Hehehehe, he's dead, he's dead! Hahahahahaha!"

Suddenly the blade rotated, ripped out, and slashed through his throat.

The red-haired man laughed, wiping down his dagger and returned it to his sheath, whistling a tune as he walked away.

_Madness is merry, and merriment's might…_

" _When the jester came calling with his knife in the night!_ " the red-haired man sang, shrieking with laughter.


	40. Meet the Extended Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that I reference events and places from Oblivion in this chapter (and possibly a few before it and after it; I don't remember lol) so if there's talk of working Sanctuaries, it comes from way back when the Brotherhood was still alive and kicking

**Chapter 39: Meet the Extended Family**

The mood in the Sanctuary was lighter than the previous evening, and only the Shadowscale, Shantanalz, was awake and doing some sort of training. I stood up, stretching as I watched her. I let out a relieved breath, smiling to myself briefly. "A wandering troubadour…."  
She stopped juggling her small throwing daggers, glancing at me before sheathing them in the leather belt across her back. "I suppose you could say that – it  _is_  a ruse I have taken up to avoid capture at the hands of the Empire's Penitus Oculatus agents."

I threw her a grin, nodding.  _I had been worrying about nothing all this time with that prophecy,_  I thought, walking closer to the Argonian when she turned to face me, her tail gently swishing from side to side. A mix of emotions ran through me briefly – relief, sadness, hurt, happiness: Cicero wasn't going to come back from the dead, after all.

"I have something else I need to tell you, Listener Alysa," the dark purple Shadowscale hissed softly, motioning that I should follow her to another corridor. "I am here not only to bring tidings of Veezara's death, nor to tell you that I am a Shadowscale to join the Dark Brotherhood. No," she shook her head, dead serious. "I am here to tell you that my order is not as dead as was presumed."  
"I was under the impression that the training facilities in Archon were shut down…?"  
"They  _were_  shut down, yes. But there were several of us who survived, and some were being groomed to teach the next series of hatchlings when they were brought to us. Sadly, the Penitus Oculatus were hot on the Dark Brotherhood's trail, so we never took on that year's hatchlings, never returned to the facilities. To the best of my knowledge, it was never found, but I would rather not risk returning. Anyway, what I wanted to tell you is that I was one of the few chosen to teach the hatchlings, and I am tracking the other Shadowscales I knew, along with the more traditional Argonian families who have young born under the Shadow. There are many who still believe in the Shadowscales, so it will not be difficult to gather hatchlings. Unfortunately, my training was left incomplete, so I require the assistance of other Shadowscales and the Dark Brotherhood to undertake this endeavor."

I was shocked – amazed. "That's…" I grinned, and Shantanalz nodded, looking genuinely excited, too.  
"I will eventually need to put a training facility together, possibly in Skyrim first, then return to Black Marsh. I also intend to create a few chapters, spread across Tamriel so that my order does not come as close to extinction as it is now. But what I mean by all this is, we will unite our orders again. Presently, I must leave and take necessary action to gather resources. I hope we can remain in contact with one another, from now on out."  
"Of course! Anything you need, let me know. Another good place to look for information is in Riften. The Thieves' Guild is in the sewers beneath the city known as the Ratway, if you haven't been there before."  
"I have not, and I will look into it. Thank you, Listener Alysa Ice-Wrath," the Shadowscale dipped her head, offering me a smile I returned. And then she left, disappearing up the passage and out into Skyrim.

I laughed. For all our hardships, many things that were once gone, or lost, were coming back. There was a lot to do, and it wouldn't be easy, but everything coming together like this…. It gave me hope for my Family. I would  _also_  need to visit the Ratway, and talk to our  _associates_  about fixing up this place. It was high time we had a proper home, and this one needed some renovating.

 

* * * * * * *

 

The red-haired man followed the stories of a mismatched band traveling north, up through Riverwood and into Whiterun, and from there, the party seemed to disband – one remained in the city, one traveled west, and three traveled north. Some said they went up to Morthal, others said to Dawnstar. Then one who went west returned to fetch the one who remained behind, and they too disappeared on a horse darker than the moonless nights early in the Fourth Era. "They wouldn't go to Morthal, no…. What's there, anyway, besides marshes and insects and disease and vampire lairs? Horrible place, we must admit…" the man muttered to himself, lifting a copy of the Black Horse Courier from a passing citizen. He'd need  _something_  to read on the way up north, wouldn't he? Of course he would! Chatting idly to the driver and other passengers was just…  _tedious_! Meticulous! Ridiculous!

 

* * * * * * *

 

"You can't go down to the Ratway by yourself! We're small enough as it is – we can't afford to lose you! Send someone else to go," Nazir argued, his deep voice rumbling louder and louder, scowling at me as he leaned on our table.

I rolled my eyes, turning away and running my fingers through my knotted hair. "Delvin  _knows_   _me_  from the last time we spoke – anyone else going down there will be eaten alive by those thieves! The Ragged Flagon doesn't exactly  _welcome_  new patrons and passers-through. I'll be  _fine_  on my own, Nazir!" I snarled back, unwilling to back down. "We need a refurnished Sanctuary – and  _I_  will go there and discuss the details with Delvin! Babette, what rooms have you managed to identify so far?" I changed the subject, ignoring Lucien's impressed chuckles and looking at Babette.

She shifted in her seat, ignoring Nazir's glare. "The training room is alright, but could do with more weapons – both legitimate  _and_  dummies for training – but that's something we can pick up easily from the local blacksmith. Some of the training dummies need repairs, but those are also easily obtained in this little city. The alchemical area is in disarray – there  _was_  a garden, but it's full of weeds now, and I think the soil may be barren," Babette pouted for a moment before continuing. "So that needs to be redone, with a more modern alchemy station. All the banners and Tenet plaques need to be replaced, and since they're a  _specialty_  order, I wouldn't go anywhere other than the Thieves Guild for that. The main hall  _obviously_  –" she motioned at the empty, cold hall around us, "– needs a proper table, the fireplace needs repairs, a cooking area is mildly important, that gaping hole needs to be closed, too. Although, it  _would_  be perfect for preserving meats and other…  _perishables_ ," she grinned darkly. "Did you know there's an  _ice troll_  dead in there?"  
"Yes. I killed it. What else needs to be done?" I drummed my fingers on the table, glancing around at everyone.

"Impressive, Listener. Not that I would have expected any less of you," Uvelaes replied smoothly. "Living quarters –for initiates, the Sanctuary leader, and what looks like special chambers for the Listener, a Speaker and the Keeper, as well as what I would assume used to be vampire's chambers – need to be redone completely – beds, chests, dressers; the list goes on. I also found what I believe is a torture chamber." Uvelaes smirked darkly. "Could be quite a bit of fun, if we restore that as well…."  
"Torture chamber? I didn't see one the first time I came here," I frowned, running through my memories of the place. I scowled at the darkly suggestive look the Dunmer threw at a completely oblivious Aventus, then shook my head. I didn't remember it.  
"It's in extreme disarray and decay – I first thought it was merely an ill-maintained area of the Sanctuary, until I paid more attention to the rather unique devices still lying around."

I nodded slowly. "Fine. Compile complete lists of what we need, how many we need of what, and where it needs to go. I'll go through the Sanctuary again, and see what's here. I also think we should add a second, secret entrance to the Sanctuary. Both for more discrete access, and as an escape  _should_  the possibility of another assault on the Sanctuary happen. It will need to end somewhere outside of Dawnstar, hidden from view but clearly marked to our Family."

"Ah, I remember climbing down the well outside the Cheydinhal Sanctuary…. It was exceptionally useful, and far less frustrating than trying to climb through the boards at the door, or through a broken window. The dear Count Indarys rather liked keeping the house in  _pristine_  condition," Lucien laughed darkly, leaning against the wall and folding his hands into his sleeves.  
Babette giggled, nodding. "Yes! Though, it was much easier for me, being so small!"

"Cheydinhal? Wasn't that Sanctuary attacked a couple years ago?" Aventus asked, looking completely confused. Nazir smacked him over the head, while Babette and Lucien scowled, muttering about 'two-hundred years ago, you idiot', and everyone scattered to take stock of what we needed to order from the Thieves' Guild.

_I have twenty-thousand septims to make purchases with from the last contract; and not much more than ten-thousand personally, which I had saved up from before…. I'd rather not be overly excessive, but there are things that we need, and that will have to come first._

I wandered through the Sanctuary, amazed for the first time at how expansive it was, even when the ice caverns were discounted. We worked through the lists, then went to all the rooms and changed more things until we finally agreed on a series of necessities. Arguments broke out often, and that pushed the whole affair right through the day.

 

* * * * * * *

 

"Assassins weren't meant to decorate homes for the living," I muttered into my tankard that night, scowling at the lists on the table. We added discrete stables after we realized that three – or more – horses would be difficult to conceal in the open, between the ocean and snow banks. Nazir had finally given in to me concerning the Thieves' Guild, but insisted that Aventus accompanied me. Which was fine – there wasn't a desperate  _need_  to get this done as soon as possible, but it would certainly make life easier. And, as of yet, the Night Mother had yet to call on me to hand out contracts. I supposed we would also need to reinstate the ranks and hierarchy; however that was determined before we were routed out by the Oculatus agents. Then we would need to figure out how bonuses would work, who would fill out which roles. Build up a reliable network of spies, couriers, bring in scribes to re-record all of our history, the Keeping Tomes….

But  _that_  was a conversation for another day. Tomorrow we left for Riften.

 

* * * * * * *

 

The red-haired man couldn't believe the news in the Black Horse Courier – the Emperor of Tamriel, assassinated? He tried to keep in his laughter, but he couldn't; it was just  _such_  good news! He was so  _proud_ …. The carts refused to leave Whiterun, what with increased dragon attacks recently, and then there were terrible stories of horrible things happening at the College of Winterhold – stories of a strange artifact being found, misused, abused: and a  _Thalmor_  was behind all of it, no less. A second agent had been sent in to re-evaluate the situation, and upon informing his superiors that the  _original_  agent was unstable, was removed, sent back to wherever they called him from. Now, only a particularly gifted mage stood between the people and 'imminent'  _disaster…_.

The red-haired man thought it rather dramatic, really, when a new copy of the Courier mentioned that the College had been completely sealed off with magic, and strange, magical 'monstrosities' and 'obscenities-anomalies' had been cropping up in the area, plaguing the citizens and being generally pesky. "I suppose  _I_  could get in there…. Mages think magic is so wonderful and all-powerful…. Just give this Fool a chance and he'll be right inside, next to whoever is in there. Well, there was  _one_  mage we'll never forget – but he isn't around anymore." He folded his two editions of the Courier, opting for an early night rather than another rowdy, ruckus night of bar brawls and drunken Nords mistaking him for a Stormcloak spy, then an Imperial soldier.

Really, were they  _blind_? Why would a poor, wondering-wandering and homeless troubadour be a  _soldier_ , or a  _spy_? "Stupid Nords…" he muttered angrily under his breath, locking his inn door behind him.


	41. Rekindling a Dying Fire

**Chapter 40: Rekindling a Dying Fire**

The Ragged Flagon was busy today.

Aventus and I hugged the shadows for a little longer, watching a tall, broad Nord man trying to convince the woman I recognized as Vex that something wasn't as bad an idea as she thought.

"For the love of Nocturnal, she's a bloody  _child,_  Brynjolf! How could you bring her in here?!" she shouted at him, pointing at someone behind her. He chuckled it off, throwing a grin at Vex.  
"Now, lass –"  
"Don't you  _dare_ 'lass'  _me_!"  
"– she's got true talent! Just what we need around here –"  
" _She's still a CHILD!"_  Vex shrieked, leaning forwards and snarling at the Nord man. Delvin had his back to me and Aventus, but he seemed to be holding back laughter.

"Ahw… I was lookin' fo'wards to stayin' here with y'all," a young girl with dark hair pouted, walking past Vex, her face sad and downcast. "I's so  _sure_  I coulda brought some'in ta th'Guild." She stopped next to the man called Brynjolf, grinning brightly at Vex as she tossed a large, clear bauble into the air, catching it and bouncing it in her palm.

Vex's hands flew to her pockets, already snarling. "Why, you  _snot-nosed, thieving brat!_ "

The entire common room broke into action – an Imperial and a hooded man grabbed Vex, pulling her back while Brynjolf snatched the girl's wrist, taking the bauble out of her hands. Aventus and I shared a quiet laugh. "Now, lassie, you don't  _steal_  from your Guild," Brynjolf chided.  
"I's jus tryin' ta prove a point," she looked up at him with what I knew would be an innocent, pleading face. "She din't believe ya, now she has ta believe  _me_. I c'n make it down here,  _if_  me guild members  _help_  me out…" she trailed, looking around.

Aventus and I stepped out into the light just as her gaze came to our general direction. She shot us a massive grin, waving at us with her other hand. Brynjolf still held the other wrist high above her head. "Welcome!" she greeted, and the entire common room went silent as the thieves turned to stare. Delvin spread his arms with a large grin. "Well, if it isn't my second-favorite assassin! How'd ya survive the Penitus takin' you on? Heard the whole place is in ruins."  
"It is. We've moved house, and require your services to liven up the place," I walked into the tavern area, Aventus behind me.

"Ah, I see. Well then, let's talk business, eh?" Delvin motioned to the deck area of the Flagon, leading the way to a more private table while the rest of the thieves broke out into raucous laughter. The three of us sat down, and Delvin took a moment to look at us. "Same two as last time, then? I'm beginnin' ta wonder if you're all that's left."  
"Close enough to the truth. We need furnishings and several adjustments to the Dawnstar Sanctuary." I wasn't here for idle chatter. I placed the lists on the table. "This is what I need done, in order of most to least urgent. There is construction work, repairs, furnishings…. Lots to be done."  
"I see…. So your lot is holed up in Dawnstar then?" Delvin picked up the lists, leaning backwards in his chair to catch the light behind him. "This  _is_  quite the list; I'll need some time ta go through it an' work out the costs. D'ya have a few days? Maybe four, at most? Two, at the least?"  
"That's fine; I was planning on staying in Riften until we could discuss costs."  
"Great! I'll have a chat with Mercer – our guildmaster – he should be fine with havin' the two of ya stayin' 'ere a few days." Delvin stood, tucking the lists into a pouch in his leather cuirass. "Vekel! Git over here and bring these assassins some'in ta drink and eat!" he shouted, blowing a kiss at Vex when he passed her. She spat at the ground, and a loud chorus of 'ooohhs' followed Delvin's passing.

"Wow…" Aventus breathed. We exchanged a glance and laughed, looking up when Vekel appeared.

"What can I do you for?" he asked, looking at us warily. We ordered drinks, and Aventus ordered food. I wasn't sure if we would actually get what was on the menu instead of Skeever meat, so I passed for the moment, preferring to watch the thieves as they milled about. They were a surprisingly sociable group, and Brynjolf especially seemed to enjoy being around his fellows. When he caught me watching, he smiled, winking as he raised his tankard before turning back to the dark-haired girl beside him. Well,  _girl_ might have been a relative term: she was short, the top of her head only barely reaching Brynjolf's chest. Then again, the man was tall, even for a Nord.

"Thieves are a strange bunch," I commented to myself, sipping at my mead when Vekel brought it. I sat up straight, staring at the golden liquid in disbelief.  
Vekel laughed. "Surprised we'd have some Black-Briar down here, aren't you?"  
"Very. I didn't think it would be  _that_  cheap, either," I admitted, savoring the fermented honey drink, casting a quick glance over the prices on the menu.  
"Compliments of Maven Black-Briar herself. We have a special agreement, you see," Vekel nodded, then left us in peace. I scowled: Astrid once mentioned a very long time ago that she sometimes did 'favors' for Maven. It seemed that woman wormed her way into all sorts of powerful, influential positions.

"Where are these  _gods-damned_  assassins?!" a furious, male voice shouted, storming out from a side passage.  
"I assume that's Mercer," I murmured to Aventus, and he nodded.

I ignored the thief's ravings until he came to a stop by our table. "You're the assassins seeking lodging here? The Bee and Barb's just upstairs. Help yourselves to a room there."  
I looked up from my tankard, standing up calmly and stood close to Mercer – much like Cicero had done to me so many times. "That's a pity. And here I thought our guilds might have had a kind of understanding. We are, after all, equally  _illegal_ , and our lines of business aren't so  _very_  different."

"Mercer, it's just for a few days – let them stay for a while, then they'll be out of the Ratway. It's not like they come here often, anyway," Brynjolf reasoned.  
Mercer turned his glare on the Nord. "Sure, then they  _move in_  with us next time. And who is that child with you?" the thief turned towards them. "Another one of your 'prodigies'?"  
"The lass is a gifted pickpocket, just give her a chance –"  
"Get. Her . _Out_." Mercer hissed. "She can stay with these cutthroats."

The dark-haired girl turned a cold glare on Mercer, lacing her fingers together. "I'll be stayin' right here, if ya like it or not, ya pompous  _ass_."

Aventus and I chortled at the same time as Brynjolf tried to pacify her. Mercer snarled, glaring at us from the corner of his eye. "We'll be staying in the Ratway for two days, then we'll move out. I can guarantee none of my siblings would find this place even  _remotely_  worth visiting for longer than that." I rested a hand on the hilt of a dagger, waiting for this Mercer to contradict me, to  _dare_  pull a weapon on me. I really  _wanted_  to kill him. But what I really wanted was to spend time on him, torture him to death.  _I need a painful, slow kill, where I get to hear my prey scream. I need to find Maro_. _And keep good relations with the thieves so I can use their services._

"Fine, two days. Same for that child, Brynjolf. She needs to bring in five-hundred septims' worth of goods in the next two days before I'll  _think_  about letting her stay." Mercer slunk away, muttering angrily about something under his breath, then a door slammed somewhere.

"Sorry about that – Mercer's usually not a friendly chap, but I guess he's  _particularly_  unfriendly today. Must be the curse," Delvin finished with a scowl. The tavern broke into groans and complaints.  
"Delvin, there's no  _curse_  on the Guild!" Brynjolf sighed.

"Curse?" Aventus, I and the dark-haired girl asked simultaneously.

"There's  _no curse_  –" Brynjolf started.  
"Somethin' out there is  _piss-drunk_  mad at us –"  
"– on the Guild at all!"  
"– and is the reason we're fallin' apart!" Delvin shouted over the auburn-haired Nord. "I'm tellin' ya, it's true! But dontcha fear, my lovely assassins – is just our luck on jobs that's gone sour. Makes life a little bit harder."

Aventus and I exchanged a quick glance. "Well, that's int'restin'. What if Nocturnal is behind this? Y'all keep referin' ta her as ya patron deity. She  _did_  curse the Grey Cowl th'original Grey Fox stole from her, din't she?" the dark-haired girl asked, pressing her hands together briefly.  
"The girl's smart, Bryn. Don't look so torn over tellin' her – what she said is true 'bout the Fox. Dunno about Nocturnal being angry, but it makes a lot of sense."  
"So, what we doin' 'bout this curse?" the girl asked.  
Delvin grinned. "We spit in its face and turn things around down here – make 'em the way they used to be. One of these days again, we'll have this place as busy as the Imperial City again!"

Jokes made the rounds, then Delvin came back to us. "Right, you make yourselves comfortable here for a while, and I'll be off checkin' up on these lists of yours. Whenever you wanna turn in, just ask someone here ta take you to the Cistern."  
"Appreciated," I replied, sitting again and just watching the thieves. Oddly aggressive bunch, but I wondered if they would actually do physical harm.

_I wonder what's behind the girl pressing her palms together every so often._

 

* * * * * * *

 

Aventus made fast friends with several Thieves Guild members, getting to know about them and eventually returning with some interesting information – the Dragonborn was now Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold, a Thalmor Justiciar was propagating rumors about a bosmeri Dragonborn (I could swear the accompanying description matched the one I had originally told Tawarthion), some organization called the Dawnguard was reforming, following a series of (apparently) planned vampire attacks, several Stormcloak troops had snuck into Imperial-controlled land and managed to destroy anywhere between three and twelve (an over-exaggeration, in my opinion) Imperial camps before they were 'brought to heel'. Aventus had seemed especially upset that the Stormcloaks hadn't managed to return to Windhelm instead.

Then, of course, there were increasingly exaggerated stories about the Emperor's assassination, from the mildly plausible to the utterly ridiculous – the Emperor had met with Boethia, and  _she_  had killed him by giving the Dark Brotherhood the contract. I didn't even understand how that was remotely possible, nor did anyone else who spread the rumor, but it was all a part of the Dark Brotherhood's growing infamy. Finally, what interested me most, was the sudden and unexpected murder of Commander Maro of the Penitus Oculatus, found with a deep stab wound to his stomach and a cut throat. Further details told of how he was found next to a series of fresh, crudely marked graves in Falkreath's Cemetery.

I felt a familiar pang run through my chest – what if, just perhaps, it had been Cicero? I squashed those thoughts, scowling at the ground.  _Dead, remember? Shantanalz was the 'wandering troubadour' in the prophecy._

But no-one in the Sanctuary mentioned seeing Cicero's body anywhere…. I hadn't moved it, so did they maybe think I had buried him, or had they just decided to let sleeping dogs lie?

 

* * * * * * *

 

"So, how old  _are_  you, Alessia? If I may," Aventus asked the dark-haired girl. We'd moved to the bar, and she had been sitting with us for a while before introducing herself as Alessia.  
"Well, I be turnin'… twen'y-three in 'bout a week, so yeah, young, I guess. Bein' a true, bastard half-elf helps keep one lookin' like a child," she smiled tensely, gulping down whatever was in her tankard.  
"Half-elf?" I asked. Didn't that make her a Breton? Something about their far-flung history mentioned they were the product of early Nordic and Elven unions.  
"Aye, Breton-Bosmer, technic'ly, dropped off at the temple of Dibella in Markarth. Some guesses say I's originally Forsworn, others say I's some bastard Thalmor-som'in. Me, I couldn't care less. Had a roof over me head, food ta eat, and now I's got a new family that understands and will 'preciate me talents." She flashed a bright grin at us, and pressed her hands together again.

Aventus excused himself to play cards with another group of thieves.  _He'll lose all of his money,_  I thought, watching the thieves snicker at each other.

"What's the story behind that habit of yours?" I asked quietly, nodding at Alessia's hands.  
"Ah, ya noticed it?" she turned for face me squarely on the stool. I nodded, looking at her. "Revenge from som'un I pickpocketed, prob'ly. See, I act'lly see a little fuzzy, thanks to some special poison or other. Runes on me hands help me see straight," she held out her palms. They were covered in tattoos of the various, foreign runes I recognized as the magical alphabet Festus often used. "Is a complex combination spell, Restoration and Illusion. I don't so much  _cast_  it as I  _feed_  the runes with Magicka." Alessia covered her hands again, a bitter sneer on her face.  
"Doesn't it make your line of work challenging? And what about the people around you?" I wondered aloud, confused as to how she would gather her tithe to Mercer.  _I still want him dead_.  
"Yeah… I s'pose it does. I see shapes and colors, but is all fuzzy. And once I know the place and the people, how they walk, what they smell like, an' other thin's like that, it's easy ta get 'round without usin' it a lot."

I nodded, sniffing. Her accent was mildly annoying. "Where did you pick up your accent?"  
Alessia laughed. "Askin' if I c'n speak all proper-like? Sure, yeah – jus' don' like it much. 'Sides, can't get too much information from beggars and poor folk if I 'talk to them with an educated accent'," she finished, her voice changing to a softer, more mature tone. The two of us looked over at the fierce cries of joy and frustration when Aventus lost the round. "They's cheatin' 'im."  
"I know."  
"Gonna help 'im out?"  
"Nope. He can figure it out on his own," I shook my head when Aventus agreed to another round. "I think now's a good time to turn in, actually."  
"Aye. Let's find Bryn," Alessia agreed, throwing the last of her drink down her throat and standing.

I followed her to the gambling table, where she leaned on Brynjolf's shoulder, peering at his hand. She squinted. "Shit hand. Nice," she commented, straightening and glancing over the table and everyone who had folded. The table groaned, the few still holding their cards throwing them down, and the Nord looked up at her. "That was cruel, lass."  
"Mm. Mind showin' us ta th'Cistern?" Alessia shrugged.  
"Be glad to, lass. I'm out this round, boys." He stood, gesturing we following him.

He opened a false door in a cupboard, closing it behind us. Another door later and we stood inside the Cistern, a large, circular room with a pool of water in the middle, the quiet rush of a waterfall oddly soothing as it echoed in the dome. It was surprisingly clean-looking and –smelling. Beds lined the pool in the middle, accessible by bridges spanning the water and walkways along the edges, and four passages led out to other areas – safes, training areas, alternate entrances and exits, I supposed. A shrine to Nocturnal stood to one side, tall and dark and beautifully opposing. "Welcome to the Cistern, lasses. You can take these two beds over here," he raised a hand, leading us to a small alcove with three beds.

I dropped my things at the head of my bed, while Alessia flopped down on hers. "Tell me – will any of yours consider taking an interest in my possessions during my stay?" I turned to Brynjolf, nudging my pack under the bed with my foot.  
"No, lass – I doubt they'd like to find themselves dead and in the Void as opposed to the Evergloam or other," he chuckled. "Assuming we all go to these different places when we die. Shout if you need anything else."  
I nodded my thanks, quickly fishing out my robes and changing behind a screen.

"OI, BRYNJOLF!" Alessia shouted suddenly, the strength of her voice making me flinch and drop my tunic.  
"Lass?" Brynjolf questioned, coming back just as I stepped out, frowning deeply.

Alessia shot him a bright grin, leaning on her elbows. "Methinks I need a  _foot_  massage," she wiggled her toes at him.  
The Nord's shocked and confused expression with Alessia's snicker was the last straw. I snorted, and one look at Alessia had both of us in fits of laughter. Brynjolf chuckled to himself, brushing off Alessia's request with a wave of his hand.

"Good night, lasses!"


	42. Home is Where you Hang Your Enemy's Head

**Chapter 41: Home is Where you Hang Your Enemy's Head**

Aventus and I were in the Ratway for another two days, and Delvin had managed to bring his side of the deal, securing contacts and workers and the cost of the renovations. It would amount to twenty-five thousand septims – five thousand more than I had received from the Emperor contract. But it would be easy to pull things together and get the remaining sum; if memory served, I still had a fair amount of gold from several earlier contracts. I would use that to fill in what we needed. I am the Listener – my life for the Brotherhood.

Alessia, in the meantime, had managed to pull her tithe together – a sum of over five-hundred septims. How much over, or how she had done it, I didn't know – I didn't bother asking, either. But everyone seemed especially impressed with a strange, glowing pink stone in a gilded case she presented proudly on return. Mercer's mood had clearly improved over the past two days, but he was still, to quote Alessia, a 'pompous ass'. I wouldn't mind having my way with him, with a certain pair of daedric daggers…. But Aventus and I were heading home with one of Delvin's contacts, so they knew where we were situated and would be able to make their way to us discretely.

Then restorations and construction would begin, and the physical aspects of the Brotherhood would begin to come together again. What I would need to do as soon as I returned to the Sanctuary, concerned a long conversation with the Night Mother and re-establishing the old structures of the Brotherhood, completing outstanding contracts, recruit new members.

 

* * * * * * *

 

During the journey home, my thoughts wandered to Honorhall Orphanage and the children inside. Sure, Grelod was dead, thanks to me, but surely there would be a few  _special_  children there, unable to fulfil normal roles in society, whether it was because of something they had been through, much like me, Aventus and Babette, or if it was something that was naturally inside them from birth. Of course, bringing a child into the Dark Brotherhood was less than ideal – dangerous, even – but if they could be guided and cultivated properly, they could become a generation of perfect assassins, loyal to the Night Mother and Sithis, following the Tenets as our siblings used to, without fail or question.

But like I said, bringing children into the Dark Brotherhood wasn't ideal at all. Where would they stay, who would train them? If they decided they hated this life, or if we chose the wrong ones and they broke under training and the pressure of secrecy, they would become loose ends to be tied up in one very specific way…. I shook my head to clear my thoughts. For now, that would be an avenue I would avoid at all costs. We were nearing Dawnstar, and Aventus was already considering a series of alternative ways to the Black Door that would draw the least attention from the townsfolk.

But as we neared the town, the people were looking haggard, and as if they hadn't slept since we left. Many complained about nightmares and horrifying visions filling their sleep, and while none remembered what they dreamt about, what they felt haunted them throughout the day. Some attributed it to the werewolf that had blazed through town, and the hunter who had gone after it and never returned. I smirked, remembering when I had chased Arnbjorn and Cicero to Dawnstar. But that was long ago. If someone had told me that happened an era ago, I might have believed them. And, as a result of everyone's general weariness and snappiness, we decided to stay in Dawnstar for evening. As long as we didn't do obviously stupid things, no-one would even remember the travelers who had passed through the little coastal town. I still couldn't call this a city.

Then there were other whispers, once the three of us were settled into the inn, drinking a tankard of our favorite drinks, hot food on the way. The whispers suggested that there was a Door nearby, and that  _things_  had been coming out of it. Surely those  _things_  were the cause of all the horrors, according to some of the locals. A priest of Mara seemed to disagree with everyone, and I had a feeling he knew exactly what was causing these nightmares, but lacked the means to do anything about them. As long as it didn't affect my Family, I didn't care about the rest of the town's problems. Let them blame the Door – it would encourage them to stay away from it for a while still.

 

* * * * * * *

 

" _Oh, if I chance to see a cat, I'll feed its corpse to my pet rat!_ " the red-haired man sang, walking up the road to the North. He remembered this farm, and that one. There were mountains to the far right, and Dragonsreach to the left. He had been walking and walking and  _walking_  for hours and hours but it didn't really  _feel_  like he was going anywhere. It would be twilight soon, and both moons were sleeping tonight, so the night would be black and dark as the Void itself. "Ah, I'll have to make camp or ask a friendly farmer for a stall," he sighed, walking up a little path to a nearby farm. It was familiar, but honestly, this wandering troubadour couldn't think of a reason why it was so empty, overgrown….  _Devoid_  of  _life_ …..

And he remembered when he stepped inside the house – the stink of the dead and rotting and rotted and decayed-decaying. The red-haired man gaged, his arm flying to his face and hurrying out the door. "Unholy Matron!" he swore, remembering Loreius and his wife, buried just underneath the floorboards, not yet in the ground but cool and clammy and decaying. "Gah, I shouldn't have buried them in the house," he whined, going to a little windmill and preparing a little space for himself, then started with a cold dinner. "We should have left the farmhouse  _clean_  so one could live inside it…" he complained to himself, slowly settling in for the rest of the night. He had to make his way to Dawnstar, had to find  _someone_  – but he couldn't really remember who. This wondering, no-longer-wandering troubadour was beginning to find the road home again – just because he was lost didn't mean he didn't know where to go. He just needed the right road.

The right road would take him  _home_ , home to the one that he knew he needed to find.

 

* * * * * * *

 

We returned to the Sanctuary as soon as was acceptable for travellers on the road, and immediately showed our guest around, explaining what the different room were, where we needed what, where renovations and construction needed to happen. He nodded, taking everything in with a critical eye, and suggesting a few changes and improvements here and there, to discuss with the rest of my Family. I was just thrilled that things were working out, and we were trudging onwards, slowly building ourselves up from the ashes and ruins again.

But despite all the happiness I felt for all that was going well, there was still a torn, unhealed cut somewhere in my black little heart.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Ah, I had almost forgotten! Oh, we had forgotten how long the road to Falkreath had been, when we had come down from Dawnstar…. Luckily, we weren't going  _back_  to Falkreath, but North to Dawnstar! To the last Home left here. Cicero could only hope that, this  _someone_  he –  _I_  – was looking for would be there, like I thought this person would be…. Cicero stopped walking. There were  _two_  people he was looking for, wanting to find, but one wasn't a  _person_ , not anymore…. Not in the normal-person sense, anyway. But I was going home, and home is where Cicero would know what he was looking for.

" _Oh, if I see that fair maid Nelly, I'll plunge my knife into her belly!_ " he sang softly, sighing when the first drops of rain began to fall.


	43. Epilogue: Eye of the Storm

**Epilogue: Eye of the Storm**

Perhaps two months later, I stood outside next to Shadowmere early in the morning, waiting for Aventus to come outside. Babette stood next to me, already squinting in the pre-dawn light. A breeze tugged at a few loose strands of my hair, again neatly plaited by Babette. She moved suddenly, sniffing the air. "You're happy again;  _really_  happy," she accused, looking at me. I frowned at her. "You smell different when you're happy."

Aventus heaved the Black Door open, just as the sun rose in the east. Babette smiled at me for a second before dashing inside.

She was right – I  _was_  happy again. I closed my eyes, lifting my face to the sun. I breathed in deeply, a soft smile forming. A  _happy_  smile – happy for no reason but to be happy. I stood like this until the red of sunrise became the dark orange of dawn, and still a little longer until the light faded to a bright, sharp orange.

Aventus stood silently beside me, watching for the workers Delvin had collected. He left my side at some stage, and when I finally opened my eyes again, I saw the young Imperial leading a team of ten dim-witted workers paid by Delvin with my money to do the work we needed on our Sanctuary. There were brief introductions, the contact from the first time shaking my hand firmly. He ran over his plans again, and I nodded along to everything, their logic sound to me. I let them go with Aventus, and left him in charge of the group. They would do just fine, under our passively threatening presence and guidance.

I had filled several large books with Babette and Uvelaes' help, all detailing hierarchy, ranking, advancement and the likes, as used by the Dark Brotherhood before we had been taken down a few notches. There were other books that I had asked Babette to fill in her neat, sharp and clear handwriting that came to be the new Keeping Tomes, others were scripted by Uvelaes, in his most flowing and ornate calligraphy. I tended to scribble down what the Night Mother told me on cheap parchment before handing it to them to neaten and bind.

But the most important documents had been recorded, and while the Night Mother remained mostly still about contracts, she did give us enough to keep us busy.  _Repairing the Sanctuary comes first, though_ , I thought, looking out at the ocean before me, remembering what our Unholy Matron had said to me. I had become frustrated with the apparent lack of contracts and the endless stream of scribework and thrown a temper-tantrum.

To my siblings, it looked like a one-sided tantrum. I chuckled wryly to myself – I thought it was funny now, but then…. Oh, I had been furious, frustrated and exhausted. I had spent nights awake, trying to record everything I possibly could, as the Night Mother had dictated to me. It was tedious work in the beginning, and more often than not I had lost track of time – the reason for working through the night, missing sleep . Lack of sleep and nourishment had left me grumpy and frustrated, and between my siblings, I think they took it upon themselves to  _make_  me rest when Babette snuck up on me at some stage after my tantrum.

 _For that I will always be grateful,_  I nodded to myself, idly stroking Shadowmere's flank, his hips shifting as he rested a foot and lowered his head, dozing in the bright morning light, his tack spread on a table inside. It was soothing to be outside again, and to wear something other than the Brotherhood's leathers or robes. I had almost forgotten the feeling of sun on my skin these past few weeks….

Shadowmere heaved a sigh, and suddenly looked up, his ears pricking to the south, then the northeast.  _My Listener, I feel the need to run. These few weeks have me feeling like…. Well, like a fat pleasure horse,_  he snorted, his nose wrinkling as his ears pinned flat against his head. I smirked at him. "Go, then," I pushed his rump, and for a moment I thought he seemed surprised. But then he bolted, and as soon as I was out of reach, he bucked and kicked out, disappearing around the bend.  _He might be daedric, but he's still a horse,_  I shook my head, a sudden breeze blowing from the south. I turned my head towards it, letting the wind blow my hair away from my face.

I was about to turn around and go inside, when a shape coming this way caught my eye.

I frowned, squinting down the beach. It was human – probably Nord or Imperial, but the features were obscured at this distance. I stepped forwards a little, turning to face the figure trudging slowly along the gravel. I touched the daggers at my waist, watching what I now recognized as a man coming slowly, his head dipped as he stared at the ground. His clothes were torn, dirty from wear and long, hard days on the road. His head was covered by a cowl I had seen farmers wear on cold and windy days. He was still oblivious to my presence and my careful staring.

He stopped, turning to the ocean as he pulled out a waterskin, drinking briefly from it before holding away from him, and tipping it upside down. He had finished his water. The man sighed, his shoulders dropping as if the weight of the world had suddenly fallen onto them. He wasn't that far from Dawnstar, but I suspected he wouldn't return to the city unless he was forced to. He had that air about him, as if this was his final journey, his last grasp at something he needed to find. I found myself wondering what could possibly make one so world-weary. He didn't look that old – perhaps a few years older than me. But I wasn't so interested that I would go out to him and ask. I kept watching him, more out of curiosity than wariness about his proximity to the Sanctuary.

The man pushed his cowl back, a messy tangle of red hair coming loose. I felt myself gasp at the startling familiarity of the color. Sure, it was short – just hanging under the man's jaw, and roughly hacked at to achieve the length, but the color…. I was rooted to the spot, unable to move. The man sat down on the gravel, just staring at the waves lapping the smooth pebbles while I stared at him. Eventually he stood, dusting himself off and started walking towards me. A gust of wind from behind me pushed at my back, forcing me to take a step forwards.

The man looked up then, his face in a half-smile at the cool wind, his eyes closed.

 _It can't be…._  My eyes widened.

He opened his mouth, and started singing. " _Madness is merry…._ "

 _It's impossible…. I pray it's true…._  My arms hung limp by my sides, and my feet moved forwards on their own.

" _And merriment's might_ …" he continued, still unaware of me, unaware of the whirlwind of harsh and powerful emotions he was bringing out in me, with that  _voice_.

A voice I knew well.

The man stopped singing and halted when he saw me standing there, gaping and staring and so close to tears.

His grey eyes stared into mine, searching, questioning, remembering. My mouth worked, unable to form a word or make a sound.

I stepped closer to him just as he treaded closer to me.

"C-Cicero…?" I breathed.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Cicero couldn't believe it – as far has he had come, after all  _I_  had been through, we  _still_  couldn't find the one we were looking for! How much further, how much longer…? Did these people, this person even  _exist_?! He sat down on the gravel-beach, watching the waves. Oh, how Cicero despaired! This was to be his last journey, to find whoever he knew he had to find. That was why I hadn't planned to take much with me. Ah, sweet mother, where is it we belong? I pushed our cowl back, letting the salty, spritely sea-spray-breeze tangle the already-tangled, hacked mess of hair. Cicero closed his eyes. Oh, where to? What to do? We had always known…. Now I don't. What happens now? "We walk on, north. There  _has_  to be something here, I know it. Cicero  _knows_  there  _must_  be a home here, somewhere…." Cicero stood, brushing off the little pebbles and sand and started walking on – plodding, one foot, then the next, then the first, then the other.

The wind blew sharp and hard, and we smiled.  _It's cold, but lovely. Like_ she _was,_  we smiled to ourselves.  _But who is she? Will this Fool of Hearts know when I meet her again?_

" _Madness is merry_ ," I started singing slowly, eyes still closed, loudly to Cicero's own self, because why not? There was someone who loved that song, one he had sung once while walking into Falkreath…. But when, and why, and to whom… the Fool of Hearts couldn't remember. Maybe he didn't  _want_  to remember, somewhere deep inside? Well, he would find out, soon enough. " _And merriment's might…._ " Cicero opened his eyes, to see a woman standing there.

A woman who looked heartbroken, hopeful,  _beautiful_.

Must most of all, this Fool of Hearts realized she was beautifully  _dangerous._  I knew her,  _know_  her…. I gasped – oh, Sweet Unholy Matron, beloved Night Mother, I know who this blonde woman with the cold blue eyes is!

Cicero beamed. Cicero stared – she stared back, hoping, praying, half-smiling in disbelief! Through her grief!

She ran. Ran to me, sobbing. Cicero ran to catch her, falling to the sand on his back when we collided. "Cicero!" she choked, sobbed into my chest.  
"Shh, it's ok – I'm here, it's ok," Cicero soothed, stoking her plaited hair as she lay on his chest. "I'm here, Alysa Ice-Wrath, Listener of the Dark Brotherhood. Your Keeper is here. He has come  _home_."


End file.
